The Clue in the Inheritance
by TinDog
Summary: Nancy and Joe unravel a tangled web of family secrets and hidden identities while working on their relationship and tracking down the special dessert Hannah is missing- all in the week before Thanksgiving. And you thought you had a lot on your plate. **A sequel to my previous story, The Secret of Idlewild Manor**
1. Chapter 1

A Brief Note Before We Begin: In my personal Nanciverse, Bayport and River Heights are neighboring towns. It just made things easier. Nancy and Joe are adults and do adult things so if that's going to bother you, don't read.

Chapter One: Kate's Mystery.

A dank mixture of wind-blown dead leaves and heavy rain slashed against the windshield of George Fayne's Jeep. In the passenger seat, titian-haired detective Nancy Drew shivered and wrapped her chilly fingers appreciatively around her drive-through coffee cup.

"I always thought T.S. Eliot was wrong. It's November that's the cruellest month, not April," she remarked.

"I'd have to say February," George replied.

Nancy nodded. "I concede." She paused, watching what scenery there was go by.

"George, have we already been down this street?"

"No," George growled. "Maybe. I'm not sure. I hate these developments."

"Try taking a left," Nancy suggested.

"I think that's what I did last time."

"No, we went right. I remember seeing that red car."

George shrugged and turned left. The road came promptly to a dead end. "Damn!" George said, wrenching the vehicle into a choppy, frustrated three-point turn.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. Damn suburbia."

Nancy took a sip of her coffee. "So, tell me more about this Army buddy of yours," she said, hoping to lighten George's mood.

"Army buddy?" George snorted. "You make us sound like a pair of old men who like to hang out on a park bench and compare stories about Normandy."

"Former colleague then? Fellow veteran? Sister-in-arms?" Nancy teased.

"Lowry. Well, Lowry-Fielding now. Or Kate, I guess. We went through basic training together and ended up sharing a dorm room for a few years in South Korea." George had enlisted after high school, served her four years, and returned home to pursue her dream of running her own martial arts studio. True to her laconic nature, she never spoke much about her Army experience or the friends she had made; but over the years Nancy had gathered that George had really enjoyed her time in the service.

"She's married to a reservist," George added. "He's a dentist in civilian life. Hence the pricey cookie-cutter house in this godforsaken fungus of a development."

"And she has a mystery for us!" Nancy said happily.

"I already told you all I know, Nance. She was pretty vague on the phone."

"Well, then, drive faster." Nancy joked.

"I'm about to drive us right back to River Heights," George said crossly.

"Hang on. There! Rhododendron Loop!" Nancy cried, pointing to a street sign. George stomped the brake and turned hard into the road, tires squealing.

"Don't understand why they make the road signs so small," she muttered. "Or why every damn house and every damn street has to be identical."

"932 Rhododendron. There, George. The one with the bright blue mailbox."

George swung her Jeep into the driveway, face brightening a bit. "Trust Kate to have the only unique mailbox for miles. Are those daisies painted on the side of it?"

"Affirmative," Nancy said, wrestling with her seatbelt. "Is that a problem?"

George shrugged. "It's just a little...I don't know. It's weird."

"You're not exactly in uniform anymore either," Nancy pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah." George was already ringing the doorbell. As Nancy came up the steps behind her, the door swung open wide and a scruffy terrier-type dog rocketed out, followed by a toddler in footie pajamas.

"Levi! Don't go out there without shoes!" The child's mother swooped in and caught him up before he reached his objective, which seemed to be the large puddle at the bottom of the steps. "Come in, come in," she called. "Don't stand there in the rain."

Nancy and George stepped into the hall, closing the door behind them. Kate set down her toddler and came forward to greet them. Nancy's first impression was of softness: wavy golden hair, blue eyes, pink lipstick, a flowered cardigan, and a belly curved heavily with pregnancy.

"George!" Kate exclaimed, pulling an astonished George into a rib-creaking hug.

"Kate!" she said helplessly. Kate, having mercy, let her extract herself from the embrace. She turned to Nancy, extending her hand.

"Kate Lowry-Fielding. It's really great to meet you, Nancy. I'm a big fan."

"It's nice to meet you, too," Nancy said, holding her own hand up apologetically to display the bandages. "Forgive me. My hand is out of commission right now."

"That looks painful. What happened?"

"Bit of a run-in with some broken glass during my last case," Nancy said, downplaying the incident. A struggle with a pair of car thieves, cornered and desperate, had culminated in Nancy exiting an office via the plate glass window. She had other cuts, but her right hand and wrist had been the worst. Beneath the bandages were several neat lines of stitching and an angry blue-green bruise.

Kate grimaced. "That sounds ugly. Come have a seat, girls. George, you haven't changed a bit."

"You have," George said.

"Nah, I'm the same old Kate. I just got tired of being tough all the time," Kate said comfortably. She steered her little boy toward the doorway, summoned the little dog with an authoritative whistle that seemed to put George a bit more at her ease, and led the way through to the living room.

"Make yourselves comfortable, please," she said. "I'll be in the kitchen for a moment. Levi, stay here with Mommy's friends while Mommy gets your snack."

"Is that a train track I see?" Nancy said, kneeling to the little boy's level. Evidently any admirer of trains was trustworthy in Levi's book. He toddled right over to her and began showing her his engines and cars. George paced the length of the room, studying the framed family photographs on the wall.

"Stop pacing, Fayne," Kate called from the kitchen. "I'm still me." She returned, carrying a tray with a plate of cookies, a sippy cup of milk, three mugs of coffee, sugar, and creamer.

"Never got service like this while we were rooming together," George said, perching on the arm of the loveseat. Nancy sat beside her. Kate settled onto the couch with some relief and waited for Levi to scramble up so she could hand him his milk and a cookie.

"I think you mean 'thank you,'" Kate shot back, grabbing a cookie for herself. "Sit back, woman. Have a cookie. Stop looking around like you're figuring out an escape route."

"George doesn't handle change well," Nancy said, stirring cream into her coffee.

"I like to assess things before accepting them. That's all," George said with dignity.

"Oh, I know George of old," Kate said cheerfully. "Undemonstrative, suspicious, and loyal to the bitter end. We'll be okay. Right, Fayne?"

"Any change that produces cookies like this, I can live with," George said.

Nancy couldn't wait any longer. "So, Kate. George tells me you have a mystery for us."

"I do," Kate said. She leaned in conspiratorially, as far as her swollen belly would allow. "Someone has been digging holes in my backyard," she said. Nancy waited, but there seemed to be no more information forthcoming.

"Digging holes," she repeated.

"And filling them in again," Kate said, eyes twinkling with mischief. She knew she was teasing Nancy. "That's the whole story, girls. It's been going on for a week now. I wake up in the morning and there's a fresh hole. Empty," she added, anticipating Nancy's next question. "They're not hiding anything, or burying anything. Just digging and filling in. The police were polite about it, but they can't exactly waste resources on this. Post a guy in my yard all night just in case someone digs a little hole and fills it back in? They're not even stealing dirt. They also pointed out that it is very likely a dog digging holes."

"But you're not buying that."

Kate looked at Nancy. "No. Not unless a dog wears about a size 12 men's sneaker." She laughed "Plus, the edges of the holes are too regular. I'm positive this is human activity. But I'm not exactly in any shape to pull off a stakeout myself right now." She smoothed a hand over the curve of her belly.

"Where's Miles?" George asked.

"Afghanistan. He deployed last month. I haven't wanted to worry him about this."

Nancy looked at Kate, sensing the vast reservoirs of strength hidden beneath the pretty clothes and the lipstick and the curls. "We'll handle it," she said. "I'm glad you called."

"I can only assume they're looking for something," Kate told her. "Levi, sweetie, don't tip your milk. It's too deliberate to be random vandalism. And if they were digging a hole to hide something there would only be one hole. Plus, you know, there would have been something hidden at the bottom."

"What could be hidden on this property? Do you know anything of its history?"

"When we moved in three years ago the house was brand new. I don't know what was on the property before the developers bought it."  
"So, obviously a stakeout is in order," George said, glancing at Nancy.

"Yes," Nancy agreed. "You said the digger always comes while you're sleeping, Kate? What time do you go to bed?"

"Usually around midnight."

"Okay. George and I will come by a little before then. We won't come up to the door because that will give us away. We'll just park somewhere close by and lurk outside your house for a few hours."

Kate laughed. "Thanks, girls. I really appreciate it. Come in whenever you're through lurking and I'll make you a hot drink. I'm up at all hours anyway."

"Lock your doors," Nancy instructed. "George and I will knock like this if we need to come in." And she demonstrated by knocking out "SOS" in Morse code on the coffee table with her good hand. Levi copied her, banging away enthusiastically with his little fists, and the commotion made the little dog sit up and begin barking in short, sharp terrier barks.

"I'm sorry!" Nancy called over the din. "I forgot how toddlers operate."

"No worries!" Kate yelled back. "Pippin, sit. Lie down. Levi, buddy, your Morse code is a little rusty. Go grab Mommy her flashlight."

************************************************************************

George slid behind the wheel of her car, looking indignant. "First Bess and now Kate. You can't turn around in this town without bumping into a pregnant chick." She fixed Nancy with a sudden suspicious stare. "Please tell me you're not pregnant, Nan."

"I'm not pregnant."

"Positive? Because these things always happen in threes and I am damn sure I'm not the third one."

"Positive. Absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, just finished my period yesterday, positive."

"Good." There was a pause as George wended her way back out through the tangle of identical streets.

"She's still tough," George said finally, and that was all she had to say on the subject. "You want me to pick you up tonight?"

"No, I'll have Joe drop me off at your studio, if that's okay. It's family dinner night at his parents' and I don't know how long we'll be over there."

"That works for me. I'm off to enjoy my last dinner alone. Tom's parents are dropping Myra off at my place bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Oh, that's right," Nancy said, intrigued. Bess and Tom had taken off earlier that day for their vacation in Hawaii- Bess called it a "babymoon," but neither Nancy nor George could use the trendy portmanteau word without rolling their eyes. "Are you ready for a full week of babysitting?"

"I think so," George said. "I have Bess's jogging stroller and a six-pack of Regan's homebrew. I'm all set to experience a week in the life of a single parent. How did you get out of this, again?"

"I'm injured," Nancy said, grinning. "And you're her favorite auntie."

"You lucky dog." George flicked her turn signal. "Honestly, I think it'll be fine. She's a good kid and she has plenty of grandparents around in case I need backup."

"Absolutely. You've got this," Nancy agreed. "And I'll try not to keep you out too late tonight!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: In Which a Great Many Things Transpire

George dropped Nancy off at the Hardy brothers' apartment a few minutes after 5. Joe's truck was parked outside, but the apartment was empty. A quick glance into the garage told the detective that Joe had taken his motorcycle. He must have gone out earlier, before the weather turned nasty. He would have a long, cold ride home from wherever he was. Nancy shivered, in sympathy and in real cold, and hurried back inside. She had just enough time to get dressed for the Hardy family dinner.

Nancy wasn't living with Joe, exactly, in the same way that Callie was not-living-with Frank. Both girls had plenty of necessities- clothes, toiletries, tampons- and luxuries- dark chocolate for Callie, strong coffee and Swedish fish for Nancy- stashed there. Nancy went straight to Joe's bedroom, toeing the door shut while pulling off the wool trousers and blouse she had been wearing. She glanced through the selection of clothes she had hanging in Joe's closet and, longing for a bit of color on this bleak day, pulled on a vintage-looking blue dress. Sheer stockings which clipped to her garter belt, a pair of low-heeled ankle boots, a few quick strokes of the hairbrush, and a swipe of mascara finished the job. Nancy was just blotting her lipstick when she heard the rumble of Joe's motorcycle outside. She peeked out the window, admiring the picture he made: Joe's lean body in his fitted leather jacket, his pretty face obscured by the dark helmet, the strength and confidence in every move he made- it all emanated danger and power and adventure and sex. Nancy couldn't resist. She was waiting at the door when he walked in and she grabbed him by the lapel, pressing her body and her lips to his. Joe fitted his hands around her waist and tugged her closer for a moment.

"What's this about?" he said, smiling against her mouth.

"You are incredibly sexy in black leather." She kissed him again, blatantly offering herself. Joe moaned. It was a noise of regret, not arousal. Nancy let go.

"I'm sorry, Nan. We have to go in a couple minutes."

"Fifteen," Nancy murmured. Joe started peeling off his gloves.

"Thirteen," he said. "I'm gonna get a quick shower to thaw out before we head over." He touched one icy hand to her neck, making her squirm and squeal. "I'm an idiot. That was definitely the last motorcycle ride until spring!" He turned away, stripping off his jacket. Nancy bit back a petty retort and slumped on the couch, hiding her disappointment and frustration behind one of Callie's wedding magazines. Joe had been brushing her advances off more frequently lately. If she had greeted him like that even just a few weeks ago he would have returned her kisses until they were both breathless; would have pushed her against the front door, wrapping her legs around his waist, biting her neck and laughing as he told her to keep quiet so the neighbors wouldn't hear. Nancy scowled and flipped the page. He was between cases and therefore a little melancholy, but not enough that she or Frank had been worried. She herself felt the same during the lulls between cases: a little restless, a little edgy, a little lost- but not to the point of withdrawing from people. Maybe there was something else going on.

 _Maybe he's not into you anymore. Maybe he's trying to decide how to end things._

Nancy was relieved when Joe reappeared, interrupting her train of thought. His hair was damp from the shower; he was still buttoning his jeans and he had a grey sweater slung over one bare shoulder. As it had a hundred times before, the lettering of the tattoo over Joe's heart caught Nancy's eye. It was a quotation from _Beowulf,_ of all things, but Nancy loved it. _Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel!_ , it said. "Fate will unwind as it must." It suited him, she thought, in its flippancy as well as its solemnity.

Nancy snapped herself out of her musings. "You have time to finish dressing," she said, stopping his mad, half-clothed dash toward the door. "We have another five minutes before we have to go."

Joe yanked the sweater over his head, emerging tousled and penitent. "I know. I'm sorry. I feel rushed. Lab today ran way too long." Most of Joe's college courses were online, but certain ones, like this semester's science, had to be taken on campus. He dropped down beside her to pull his shoes out from under the coffee table. "How was your day? Restful?"

"It was good, actually. George called with a new case for me."

He paused, left shoe in hand. "Which you declined, right?"

"No. I took it."

Joe frowned. "Your hand-"

"It's just a few stitches. My brain still works just fine."

"I don't like it." He finished tying his shoelaces and sat up to face her. "You're supposed to be taking it easy for awhile."

"I am fine," Nancy repeated. "I'm a grown woman. I know my limits."

"I'm not sure you do." He got up to grab his keychain and wallet off the kitchen island. Nancy stayed put. She stacked the magazine with the others on the coffee table, deliberately aligning the corners just right so she wouldn't have to look at him.

"I was going to ask if you were interested in consulting on this one," she called, carefully keeping the anger out of her voice. Joe came back and leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.

"Why? Are you throwing me a bone because you feel bad for me?"

"No, I'm asking because we work well together. Plus, since I am a grown woman who knows her limits, I was thinking that while my hand heals I could use a partner," Nancy said, no longer bothering to conceal her exasperation. "Why should I feel bad for you, anyway? You haven't been between cases that long. If anything, I feel annoyed with you. You've been running too much and playing your guitar all night and avoiding me. I can handle the piles of sweaty workout clothes and the ten thousand renditions of 'Stairway to Heaven,' but not the rejection. I wish you'd just tell me what's on your mind."

Joe stared at her, matching her glare for glare. "Your face is on my mind," he said forcefully. "Your face, when they were lifting you into the ambulance last week. Your eyes were open, but you didn't see me. Your clothes were shiny wet with blood. I thought you were dead."

"I'm sorry, Joe."

He just shrugged. Clearly he did not want to keep talking about this. Nancy stood up, unwilling to let it drop. "You know what we do is dangerous. I do the best I can, but these things are going to happen."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Are you asking me to stop being a detective?"

"No, I'm just asking you to be more careful!" The words came out loud and angry. "Look, Nan, I'll always be here to help put your pieces back together. And I'm not going to ask you to stop chasing trouble. But you are too damn reckless. Your life is more important than catching some small-time criminal in a nowhere little town."

"This from the guy who just last winter got himself shot by a small-time criminal in a nowhere little town. That's rich."

"That was different. I wasn't working alone on that. I had backup."

"So what you're really saying is that the girl detective needs to back off and let the men handle the dangerous work."

"Don't you dare twist my words like that. All I'm saying is, you're injured. Don't take this case."

Nancy grabbed her purse and brushed past him to pull her coat off the hook by the door. "I took the case, Joe. I'll be fine. We need to go."

*************************************************************************************************

The atmosphere inside Joe's truck during the ride over to the Hardys' big stone house in Bayport was colder than the outside air. The sun had set; the rain had stopped, but the air was wet and gusty, carrying a faint scent of snow. Nancy stepped in a puddle while getting into the truck and swore under her breath, shoving her wet foot up close to the heating vent. Joe jabbed the heater button on high but did not say anything to her. It wasn't like either of them to let their anger simmer; but Nancy was not ready to let it go and Joe evidently felt the same.

Family dinners were important to Fenton and Laura Hardy. Frank and Joe knew they were welcome at their parents' table any night of the week and often dropped by in the evenings to eat or just to say hello. This evening was a more formal affair, in the sense that Laura Hardy had invited both of her boys and their companions to come for dinner at the same time (which she did once or twice a month). Frank and his fiancee, Callie, were already there when Joe and Nancy arrived. Callie was playing the piano and singing "In Apple Blossom Time" with Fenton. Frank waved his brother over, grinning.

"Hey, you're just in time. These two could use a third Andrews Sister."

"I make a terrible Laverne," Joe said, producing a tight and unconvincing return smile. Frank's gaze flickered between his brother and Nancy, immediately picking up on the tension between them. It was never any use trying to lie to Frank. Nancy saw the curiousity in his eyes temper immediately into understanding. He reached for Nancy's hand, leaving Joe in peace.

"What about you, Nance? They'll let you be Maxene if you ask nicely." He squeezed her hand. Nancy squeezed back and smiled, producing a better imitation of the thing than Joe had.

"They sound just fine to me."

Laura Hardy walked in from the direction of the kitchen. "Joey! I thought I heard the door open," she said happily, giving her youngest son a kiss. "And Nancy! Hi, honey. It's so nice to see you."

"Hi, Mrs. Hardy. Thanks for having me."

Laura waved away her thanks. "You know you're family, sweetie. We'll eat in a few minutes. Aunt Gertrude is just finishing icing one of her chocolate cakes." Mrs. Hardy hesitated. "Gertrude is having one of her bad days, boys. She's calm and lucid right now, but there's no telling how the evening will go."

Frank nodded. "It's okay, Mom. We understand."

"All right. I'm going to go pull the chicken potpie out of the oven. I'll call you in a minute."

"Can I help with anything?" Nancy offered.

"No, thanks. Everything is all set."

Nancy turned back toward the group at the piano just as the song ended. Fenton Hardy stood up to give her a warm hug.

"Hello there, Nanette," he said, teasing her with his old game of modifying her given name. In the twenty-odd years she could remember, he'd called her everything from 'Bananancy' to 'Nanniver's Travels' to 'The Flying Nan.'

"Hi, Mr. Hardy. Hey, Cal." Fenton moved on to talk to his sons, and Nancy slid onto the piano bench beside Callie.

"If you sit, you sing," Callie said lightly. Nancy raised an eyebrow. Her old friend was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Callie shook her head.

"I'm just really tired. It must be the time change. You?"

"I'm fine."

Callie scooted closer, nudging her shoulder against Nancy's in a mute gesture of comfort given and received. Neither girl felt like her usual self, and neither girl wanted to talk about it. "Singing, then," Callie said after a moment, and her deft fingers coaxed a rippling introduction from the old instrument. Nancy smiled, recognizing an old song her mother had sung to her.

" 'By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes, Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond,' " Callie sang, and Nancy joined in.

" ' Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae, On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.' " She enjoyed singing with Callie, who knew all the old songs Nancy loved and had an excellent ear for harmony. She would have felt better without Joe's presence, the consciousness of things being wrong between them, prickling at the back of her neck; but she still found herself enjoying the music as she and Callie passed lines and verses off to each other.

" 'The wee birdies sing and the wild flowers spring, And in sunshine the waters are sleeping,' " Callie sang.

" 'But the broken heart it kens no second spring again, Though the woeful may cease from their greeting,' " Nancy finished. The words made her voice tremble. Before she had time to analyze what bothered her about them Callie was nodding at her to take the chorus; and as soon as the last note had sounded Mrs. Hardy was poking her head into the living room and calling "Suppertime, songbirds!" Callie slid off the bench and took Frank's arm, turning up her face for a quick kiss. Nancy followed the group into the dining room, walking beside Joe without looking at him. He didn't try to touch her, but he did pull out her chair for her, courteous even in anger.

Fenton said grace and began passing the food- hearty chicken potpie and fresh-baked rolls with butter made on a local farm, a perfect meal for a chilly late-autumn evening. Despite her frustration with Joe and the uneasiness of being out of sync with him, Nancy started to relax. She always enjoyed the family atmosphere at these dinners. Though she was very close with her father and Hannah, with only the three of them in the house their meals never had the same sense of fullness, of camaraderie and joy. Even tonight, with Nancy and Joe at odds and everyone feeling a bit uneasy around Gertrude, the conversation flowed well and there was a lot of laughter during the first half of the meal.

"How are you finding your college courses this semester, Joseph?" Aunt Gertrude asked, pushing her glass toward Laura for a refill of warm apple cider.

"Kinda boring," Joe admitted, passing the rolls to Callie. "I had to start off with very basic classes. English, math, science. High school stuff."

"That's a shame, considering how much free time you have lately to devote to your studies," Gertrude said. Joe flinched a little.

"Joe keeps busy," Frank said loyally. "He works more cases than I do, I think. May I please have the butter?"

"Not too much, Frank dear. You want to look your best in all those wedding photos," Gertrude said. Nancy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Gertrude had always had a sharp tongue, but lately she had been going too far.

"Speaking of the wedding, Callie, did you see the link I emailed you today?" Laura Hardy said quickly, hoping to divert the conversation back to a more pleasant vein.

"The florist? Yes, I did, and I think she looks very promising," Callie said.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"A florist? You kids make so much fuss about weddings these days," Fenton said jovially. "Way back in the Dark Ages when we got hitched, we just picked a bouquet from Granny's garden that morning on our way to the church."

"We know, we know," Frank groaned. "And you caught the 6 o'clock stagecoach afterwards to travel to your honeymoon."

"Honeymoon? Sonny, we had to get right back to the homestead and milk the cows. We didn't get to fritter away our time sleeping on the beach," Fenton shot back, chuckling.

"Fenton, you let the children have their fun," Laura scolded gently. "This is a big day for them. They deserve to make as much fuss as they want to over it."

"Oh, we'd like to keep the fuss to a minimum," Frank said.

" _You'd_ like to keep it to a minimum," Joe said, grinning. "Callie probably has other ideas."

"No fuss. Just lots of family and friends and flowers and good food," Callie said.

"And a really gorgeous dress," Nancy chimed in, mostly to annoy Frank. She always had been good at pushing his buttons. Sure enough, his eyes narrowed.

"I still think that's a lot of superstitious garbage," he began hotly.

"Francis Hardy. You are not to see that dress!" Aunt Gertrude barked. Frank raised his hands in surrender.

"I know, I know. I'm just saying, bad luck isn't a real thing. I don't know why you're all taking this seriously."

"Maybe I just want to surprise you," Callie said.

"You've seen my tux," he pointed out.

"Guys, guys. Let's not hop on that merry-go-round again," Joe begged. "Toss me another roll, please, and let's talk about something else."

The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough. Nancy and Callie cleared the table afterward while Frank and Joe washed and dried the dishes, to Gertrude's obvious displeasure. But she only managed to croak out one disapproving sentence about 'undomestic young women' before Laura shoo'ed her into the living room.

As soon as the kitchen work was done Joe draped his dish towel over Frank's shoulder and pulled on his jacket.

"I'm going out to the barn. I want to see if my old tripod is out there."

"I think we may have put it up in the loft," Frank said. "Or maybe in the darkroom?"

"I'll find it." Joe slipped out, letting the door bang behind him. Laura Hardy came in and started scooping coffee grounds into the pot.

"Where's that boy gone now?"

"He's looking for some camera equipment," Frank told her.

"Everything in the barn is just as you boys have left it. I'm too afraid to touch half of it, let alone clean the place."

"Mom, has Aunt Gert been back to the doctor?" Frank asked, drying his hands.

"I can't talk her into it," Laura said wearily. "She says she's fine, and most of the time she is. Once in a while she just seems to lose her filter. She'll say anything that pops into her head and not be one bit embarrassed by it. But you know Gertrude has always been forthright."

"Forthright," Frank repeated dryly.

"I know, dear. Your father and I are working on her. Bless her heart, her stubborn streak hasn't changed a bit. I hope Joe isn't too offended by what she implied about his work."

"Joe doesn't hold a grudge," Frank said.

 _I hope that's true_ , Nancy thought wryly. Aloud, she said "I think I'll go help him look for his tripod."

"All right," Mrs. Hardy said. "Don't stay out in that damp old barn too long."

**************************************************************

The barn had been Frank and Joe's sanctuary all through their childhood and adolescence, serving by turns as their secret hideaway, their garage, their laboratory, and their gymnasium. It was still cluttered with car parts and tools and the equipment for a thousand hobbies. Nancy pushed open the small side door and entered cautiously, shivering in the dusty, hollow chill of the old building.

"Joe?" she called tentatively. A flashlight beam flicked her way.

"What do you want, Nancy?"

"I- I thought you could use some help finding your tripod."

"No. Thanks. Go back inside." The flashlight beam flicked away and vanished.

"Joe." Nancy took a step and stubbed her toe on something large and immoveable. She stepped back, biting back a yelp, feeling bruised both physically and emotionally. "Why can't you just talk to me?" she yelled into the darkness.

"It's not a good time!" Joe yelled back. His voice was muffled. He knocked something over with a tremendous crash and swore, methodically and colorfully, for the next few minutes. Nancy shuffled in the direction of his voice. Her eyes had adjusted by now and she was able to weave a fairly steady path through the chaos.

"What's wrong with right now? We need to talk, Joe. That's what you do in a relationship. Or is this not a good time for us to be in a relationship, either?"

"Please just go inside."

Nancy had found the ladder to the loft. She emerged at the top, blinking in the weak glow of his flashlight. "Does being in a relationship scare you?" she said directly. She did not add _because if so, why did you say you wanted it?_

Joe looked at her. He looked tired and vulnerable and angry. "Yes."

"Why?"

He didn't answer. Nancy swallowed hard against her rising fear. "Is it the commitment? Are you not sure of me?"

"Nancy. No."

"Then what..." She trailed off. The words to the song she had sung earlier echoed suddenly in her mind, bringing with them a pang of understanding and sorrow. _'But the broken heart it kens no second spring again.' Of course._ Nancy took a step forward.

"Is this about Iola? Are you still holding on to her?" It had been years since she had spoken that name in Joe's presence. She said it now, boldly and unapologetically. Joe blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"That happened centuries ago. I've lived a whole different life since then," Joe said, his voice hollow.

"Joe."

"Dammit, Nan, I'm not in love with her. But I can't seem to shake the fear that what happened to her could very easily happen to you."

Nancy sighed. "You could have brought this up sooner," she said gently. "I was never sure how to approach the subject."

"I didn't think you'd want to hear about her," Joe said ruefully. "Who wants to listen to their boyfriend crying about his ex?"

"This is a bit different," Nancy said, her eyes tracking his face.

"It's something I have to live with. I'll deal."

"I've lost people I cared about, too," Nancy said, losing her temper again. "You're not special. We all live with this. It's part of being human."

"I didn't say I was special. I said it hurt. What is wrong with you today?"

"What's wrong with me?" Nancy repeated. "I got a few stitches and suddenly my boyfriend is convinced I'm dying. I'm a little frustrated."

"And I'm frustrated, because you got hurt and you won't back off and let yourself heal."

"So you want me to stop doing what I love to do, what I am good at doing, because you're scared?"

"Stop saying that!" Joe took a step toward her. "I just wish you'd be a little more careful. I do the same work you do. I know how dangerous it is. One wrong step, one bad decision, can cost everything."

"Who gets to determine what is an acceptable risk?" Nancy demanded. They stared at each other, squared off like fighters, fists clenched and eyes bright with anger. Dust motes cascaded in the flashlight beam, a bizarrely serene counterpoint to the blaze of human emotion.

"I'm done. I can't talk to you right now," Joe said finally, and stalked off into the dark recesses of the loft. "Go back to the house." And this time, she obeyed, fumbling her way back down the ladder, out of the barn, and back to the warm brightness of the house.

**************************************************************

The living room was empty. Nancy could hear the rumble of Fenton and Frank conversing in Fenton's study, and the lighter voices of Callie and Laura chatting over coffee in the breakfast nook. Nancy sank down on the sofa and leaned her head back, letting the peace of the room wash over her. She knew she'd overreacted. "Girl detective needs to be protected" was a sensitive point with her. And while part of her knew that Joe did not mean to make her feel belittled, the fact was, he had.

 _You didn't have to throw Iola in his face,_ she thought miserably. She had gone out to the barn to reconcile with him, not to throw more fuel on the fire of their anger. Now maybe she had done irreparable damage to their relationship. Joe had never walked away from her like that before. And on top of it all, her injured hand and wrist were throbbing. She wanted to go home, to get into her own bed, and sleep for days.

"Nancy?" Laura Hardy said softly. Nancy lifted her head, startled. "Are you all right?"

"I'm just tired," Nancy said, trying to smile. Mrs. Hardy sat down beside her, sighing contentedly.

"It has been a long day," she said. They were quiet for a moment. Mrs. Hardy smoothed the embroidered cover of a throw pillow.

"You know, the boys used to fight like wild dogs sometimes when they were younger," she said conversationally. Nancy glanced at her. It seemed like an odd thing to reminisce about.

"Jojo was always more quarrelsome than Frankie, but Frank gave as good as he got once he'd been nettled enough." Laura caught Nancy's half-smile and laughed heartily. "Listen to me talking as though they're still a pair of toddlers instead of grown men. I don't know if you plan to have a family someday, Nancy, but if you do you'll realize they never really stop being your babies."

"Hannah tells me the same thing," Nancy said, warming to the conversation. She knew Mrs. Hardy loved her boys, but she was catching a glimpse of exactly how precious they were to her; how precious Joe was as her youngest, her last baby.

"Hannah is a wise woman," Laura said, smoothing the pillow cover again and fussing with a loose thread. "I remember one particularly bad fight," she went on. "I was in the kitchen, and suddenly they started yelling and cussing and banging around out in the barn. I thought maybe there was an intruder. I ran out there, covered in bread dough, and found my two hooligans wrestling around on the dirt floor, punching and kicking and biting. Even after I got them pried apart, Joey kept trying to throw himself at Frank."

"What were they fighting about?" Nancy asked.

"Well, it took a long time to get them calmed down enough to tell me. Finally they stopped shouting at each other. 'He won't let me use his bike!' Frank said, and that got Joe started again. 'He just wants to take it over the ramp Tony built! He's going to crash again!' Poor Frank had bent a rim on his own bicycle and scraped himself up earlier that morning on that ramp. Of course I started scolding Joey for caring about a bicycle enough to turn on his own brother. I'll never forget what he said to me. He said 'Mama, it's not the bike. He's going to hurt himself. Don't let him do it!' " Mrs. Hardy smiled fondly, shaking her head at the memory. "I can still see him standing there with a black eye and a bloody nose, begging me not to let his brother go out and hurt himself."

Nancy took a long breath and let it out slowly, releasing some of her pain. "How did you know?" she said softly.

"Oh, I knew something wasn't right the minute you two walked in. Then I saw your bandaged hand and it all made sense. Our Joe has always been a little tempestuous and it's worse since he lost Iola." Nancy was nodding, afraid to speak. She felt tears coming on. Mrs. Hardy put a gentle hand on the younger woman's knee.

"Sweetheart, don't be afraid of Iola's memory. No one here is keeping that poor girl up on a pedestal. Iola was wonderful, but she was as human as you are. You are a sweet, intelligent, beautiful young lady and you can stand on your own merits."

A tear escaped. Nancy swiped at it with her fingers. "That's very kind of you," she said shakily. "I still worry about her sometimes."

"Joe loves you, Nancy."

"He hasn't said so."

The older woman looked at her. "All that insight into human nature and you can't see what's right in front of your nose," she teased, and Nancy smiled despite herself.

"I know. I know he does. I just want to hear it from him."

Mrs. Hardy gave Nancy's knee a pat and stood up. "Come here, honey." She folded Nancy into a warm embrace, a maternal gesture that completely undid the young detective. Tears welled up and streamed hotly down her face before she could stop them.

"Whatever happens between you and Joe, I want you to know I'm here for you. I know Hannah has always done a wonderful job filling in for your mother, but I care about you, too."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hardy." Nancy stepped back, blinking back a fresh onslaught of tears. "I feel better, I think."

"I'm glad."

"Mom?" Both women turned. Joe stood in the doorway, an unwieldy bit of dusty equipment tucked under his arm. His forehead was streaked with dust and his knuckles were bloodied, but his face was at peace.

"Joe, dear. I was just going to brew a second pot of coffee." Mrs. Hardy gave Nancy one last glance filled with encouragement and comfort and bustled out. Nancy drew in a shaky breath. Joe dropped his tripod and stepped forward, hands loose at his sides, his face an endearing mixture of fear and hope.

"Nan," he said, and stopped: at a loss, for once, for words. Nancy waited. She needed him to gather his thoughts, needed to hear what he was going to say.

"Nan," he said again, and swallowed hard. "I loved Iola, and I thought I was going to die after she was murdered. For a very long time life meant nothing to me. Frank helped drag me back to myself. I'm lucky my brother is the most stubborn man on earth." He paused, collecting his thoughts again. "No other girl was worth the risk of going through that again until you hitchhiked back into my life last summer. With you, it seems like the bigger risk is not getting involved." He took a step closer, his eyes pleading for her to understand. "In the past six months, among other things, you've been kidnaped, drugged, followed, and thrown through a window. I knew that's how life with you was going to be. I didn't know how angry it would make me to watch you go through all this, how inadequate it would make me feel. You've always been my friend, but now...now all the most primitive parts of my brain are screaming that I've failed every time you get hurt."

"You have never failed me," Nancy said. "I'm an adult, Joe. I don't need to be protected from my own choices."

"I know that!" he said, frustrated. "But-"

"Joe," she said, interrupting before he could start the loop of the argument over again. "I'm sorry I picked a fight with you. I overreacted. I am very, very sensitive about being perceived as a weak girl detective and I let my feelings get the better of me."

"So did I," he said simply. "I'm sorry. I'm scared, okay? But I want you to be you."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you about Iola."

"It was a long time coming," he said. There was a brief pause.

"I don't know who gets to determine what's an acceptable risk," Joe said softly.

"Me, neither," Nancy murmured, brushing away a stray tear with the back of her wrist.

"Don't cry."

"I thought I'd ruined everything."

"I'm not that easy to chase off," Joe said, pulling her close.

When they rejoined the family, they found them all relaxing in the kitchen with mugs of coffee or tea and large slices of Gertrude's delectable chocolate cake. Nancy accepted a mug of coffee and slipped into the seat beside Callie's. Joe sat on her other side but turned toward his father and Frank, who had an open copy of a 1950s issue of _Popular Mechanics_ on the table and were engaged in a lively debate about one of the articles.

"I was just showing Mrs. Hardy my design for our wedding invitations," Callie said, sliding a piece of paper over toward Nancy.

"This is lovely," Nancy exclaimed. "You painted the background yourself, didn't you."

"I did," Callie said, smiling.

"It's a shame you never got to finish planning your own wedding, Nancy," Gertrude said, just a little too loudly. Nancy glanced up, surprised.

"Oh, I wouldn't call it a shame," she said lightly. "It was the wrong man and the wrong time."

"You're not getting any younger," Gertrude said, undaunted. "Take it from an old maid, girly. And heaven knows no good can come of this hopping in and out of bed with whomever you please. Test driving young men like you would a car. You girls think you're so modern and liberated, but it can only end in sorrow. You'll see."

Nancy blushed, at a loss for words. Laura came to her rescue. "Gertrude! For shame. When has Nancy ever been anything but a lady?"

"It's her eyes. She knows too much. Prim little Miss Drew, eh? I don't believe it. Girls with eyes like that can't keep their legs closed with superglue."

Fenton's face was stern. "Gertie, that's enough. Nancy is a guest in this house. A very dear, very welcome guest."

"As for you, Miss Callie Shaw," Gertrude said, ignoring him. "While we are on the subject, I don't care if it is the twenty-first century. A bastard is a bastard in my book. Making sure you've trapped your man? Afraid he's going to realize he's marrying beneath him?"

"Gertrude!" Fenton rose, taking his sister gently by the elbow. "Come with me. I think it's time you were in bed." He steered her swiftly out of the room, leaving behind a shocked silence. Nancy took a few deep, shaky breaths. Callie bent her head, covering her face with her hands. Frank, his face a mask of fury, moved swiftly over and wrapped an arm around her.

"I'm so sorry, girls." Mrs. Hardy looked more upset than Nancy had ever seen her. Callie was sobbing now, her face buried in Frank's chest. Nancy glanced at Joe and found him looking at his brother and Callie, wearing his deducting face.

"Joe, please get Callie a glass of water," Mrs. Hardy said. Frank nodded his thanks.

"Frank?" his mother said quietly. Frank's arm tightened around Callie.

"No," he said. "Not as far as I know. Callie?"

"I'm sorry," Callie sobbed. "I d-don't know. I realized earlier in the w-week, I'm late, but you've been working those extra shifts. I was going to talk to you about it tonight." She looked up, meeting Joe's eyes and Mrs. Hardy's. "You m-must all be s-so disappointed in me."

Frank stroked Callie's hair soothingly. "It's okay, love. Nobody's disappointed in you."

"Here," Joe said, offering the water glass. Callie took it and drank gratefully.

"Let's clear the air here," Mrs. Hardy said, gathering her composure. She looked around the room, meeting each young person's eyes in turn. "I'm not a fool, you know. Frank, I've known you and Callie were sleeping together since high school. And Joe, I know Nancy isn't sleeping on the couch when she stays over at the apartment. As far as I'm concerned it is absolutely none of my business. And your father agrees." She looked around again, taking in Nancy's crimson cheeks and her sons' sheepish expressions. "I'm not trying to make you feel ashamed. Fenton and I think the world of all four of you. We could not be any prouder of our sons. Now, Nancy: I've known you all your life, and you are a perfectly normal, perfectly respectable young woman. And Callie, if you are pregnant, no one will be disappointed in you. You did nothing wrong. It takes two people to make a baby and it takes a village to raise one and your parents will just have to answer to me if their first reaction isn't joy."

"They'll disown me," Callie said. "But there's a- a test in my p-purse. I've been carrying it around all week, too scared to use it."

"It's more than likely wedding stress affecting your body," Mrs. Hardy said gently. "Do you want to take the test? One way or the other, it will put your mind at rest."

"Y-yes." Callie looked at Frank. "I wanted this to be special. If it is something, I mean. I'm sorry."

"Hey," Frank said softly. "I don't care how I find out. If this is happening, it's special." He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a surprisingly intimate gesture; Nancy looked away, slightly embarrassed, as though she had been intruding.

"Okay." Callie stood up, drawing a deep and determined breath. "I'll be right back."

The seconds dragged by. Nancy could feel Joe fidgeting beside her. Frank was pale and quiet. Mrs. Hardy waited demurely, hands folded in her lap.

"Frank?" Callie called after a moment, and Frank practically flew up off the couch. Nancy could hear them talking but could not make out the words. When the couple re-entered the room, Frank's arm was around Callie again and Callie's brown eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

"This is all wrong," she said, sounding stunned. "This is the wrong time. I don't know what to do."

"Goodness, child," Mrs. Hardy said, looking surprised. "What to do is the easy part. Your body knows exactly what to do and so does your heart."

"You're not angry?"

"I'm angry with Gertrude," Laura Hardy said. "With you? Not a bit."

"How on earth did she know? Is there a big scarlet 'A' painted on my forehead?" Callie sat back down, still stunned. Nancy reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Joe was punching Frank's shoulder exuberantly and Mrs. Hardy, so calm and collected up till this point, had burst into tears. Fenton Hardy picked that moment to return to the living room. There followed a noisy few minutes of sobbing and explanations and congratulations and lots of hugging until the noise drew Aunt Gertrude in her nightgown like a horrible old toddler refusing to go to bed. She pointed a bony finger and shrieked "Harlot!" at the girls until she was made to go back to her room.

*******************************************************************

"There's no way any of this was real. I must have fallen asleep in class and dreamed the whole thing," Joe said. "The Hardy family does not do drama like that."

Nancy slid into the passenger seat of Joe's truck, sinking gratefully into the battered upholstery. She was exhausted, physically and mentally. "I've certainly never seen Gertrude that uninhibited," she said dryly.

Joe glanced over. "Don't let her get to you. She was wrong about you."

"I know."

A few moments passed. "We're good, Nan?" Joe said tentatively. Nancy reached over and touched him, brushing his cheek and his bicep before letting her hand settle on his thigh.

"We're good," she said. "I just wish I didn't still have a stakeout to handle tonight."

"Alone?"

"With George."

"I only asked in case you wanted company. I wasn't going to tell you not to go."

"I know, Joe."

"Are you coming back to my place after?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes." He glanced over again, blue eyes pleading. "Wake me up when you get in. I'll lock my guitar in its case and throw all my sweaty running gear in the washer and I'll be in bed, waiting for you."

Nancy smiled. "Now I feel like a tyrant."

"I love you, Nancy. I'm going to make things right."

 _I love you._ He had said the words, as casually and naturally as though he said them every day. Nancy's heart bumped in her chest. "I was in the wrong too," she said, managing to keep her voice steady. _What did he mean? Which kind of love?_

Joe pulled into the parking lot of George's studio and put the truck in park. "Earth to Nancy. I can see your mind spinning over there."

"Eventful day!" Nancy told him, releasing her seatbelt.

"You don't get off that easy." Joe reached over and grabbed her, sliding her across the bench seat until he could wrap her in his arms. "Tell me you love me too, Drew. Don't leave me hanging."

"You idiot. Of course I love you." She tipped her face up and tried to brush a kiss against his lips, but only caught the corner as he shook his head.

"Tell me."

"Joseph Hardy. I love you."

He kissed her then, a long, sweet kiss. "Good luck tonight."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Stakeout

Conveniently for the young sleuths' purposes, Kate's house was the last one on a cul-de-sac, with nothing behind it but a long backyard and the tall fence which marked the edge of the development. Nancy and George parked under the cover of some out-of-control blackberry bushes and sat in the dark, binoculars trained on Kate's yard, steadily growing colder and more restless. A raw, wet wind whistled around the car and blew one branch against the side in a maddening _thwack, thwack, thwack._

George shifted in her seat, flexing her hands to crack her knuckles. "When's the last time we did this, Nan?"

"Oh," Nancy said, racking her brain. "Years, maybe. A long time. Probably before you enlisted. Not as much fun as you remembered?"

"Who's not having fun?" George retorted. She reached into her hoodie pocket and tossed a bright yellow bag into the center console. "Peanut M&Ms. I know they're a far cry from Bess's macadamia nut cookies, but they're a good distraction."

"Awesome." Nancy, in her turn, extracted a four-pack of energy drinks from her bag. "I brought the jet fuel."

"That stuff is so bad for you."

"And M&Ms aren't?"

"Fair enough," George conceded. Nancy popped the tab on one of the cans.

"I am exhausted," she told her friend. "Beyond exhausted. I waved bye-bye to exhaustion three hours ago. I think at this point I qualify as a zombie. And I am freezing and bored and for once in my life I would rather be in bed than sitting in a car,waiting for a mystery to show up."

"What happened? I thought you were off for a nice peaceful family dinner," George said, digging into the candy.

"Nice, peaceful- " Nancy broke off. "George. Over the course of one dinner Joe and I had our first real fight, Callie and I got verbally abused by Aunt Gertrude, and Callie got manipulated into telling the whole family some news she wasn't ready to tell. It was awful."

"I'm not even sure where to start with all that. You and Joe are okay?"

"We're okay. We never really dealt with Iola, if you know what I mean, and sort of Chernobyl-ed this afternoon." Nancy knew that George, unlike Bess, didn't want the he-said, she-said play-by-play. "Gertrude called me a slut, basically, and made nasty references to my engagement to Ned. And Callie...shit, George, I should have led with this. She's the third."

George's jaw dropped. "No way. Callie's knocked up?" She laughed. "Perfect Callie? No freaking way. Is Frank shellshocked?"

"Actually, Frank was incredibly sweet about it. He's really happy."

"That's insane." George absentmindedly cracked open an energy drink and took a swig, grimacing as the taste hit her. Nancy was already three-quarters done with her first. She tipped up the can and downed the remaining contents in one gulp, shuddering gratefully as she felt the caffeine tingle through her bloodstream. That was better. Now, if only it were a little warmer.

 _Next time you go into business as a private investigator, do it in a warmer climate. Like Hawaii_ , she thought. With a sigh, she reached for her binoculars and did a quick scan of Kate's yard. Nothing.

"Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse," she said. "Heard from Bess yet?"

"She's been sending me pics of the beach ever since they landed. It's obnoxious." George evidently shared Nancy's distaste for the bleak weather they'd been having.

"And you're watching Myra all week?"

"Mostly. Trading off with Bess's parents. Between Myra and work, I'm not going to be able to help out too much on this thing." George pulled a wry face. Nancy just laughed at her. She knew Myra was George's moon and stars.

"That's okay, George. I've brought in a consultant."

"Tall blond guy? Really smart, but talks too much?"

"That's the one." Nancy reached for the candy and popped a handful into her mouth.

"You can really work together, your personal relationship being what it is?"

"You and I are working together, aren't we?"

"We're not sleeping together, though. There's a difference."

"You think a dating relationship is automatically too weak to hold up to the pressure of mutual crime-solving?"

"Well. Yeah."

"George, you cynic." Nancy ran her fingers through her hair, gathering it up mindlessly into a ponytail.

George wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Really though. Sitting together in a car in the dark and you think you could keep your mind on your work?"

Nancy laughed. "Fair enough. Car sex isn't my favorite, though."

"Really? I had you pegged as the adventurous type."

"Oh, definitely. But it's so cramped and awkward in here. The hood of the car, that's a different story."

George shook her head. "You know I'm usually first in line for anything risky, but that's something I don't get. There's no thrill in maybe getting caught. It just distracts me."

"Oh, the stories I could tell you!" Nancy said mischievously, popping the tab of her second energy drink.

"I'm good!" George said hastily. "Save it for our next girls' night. That way I'll be too buzzed to care, and Bess won't feel left out."

"I'm sorry, George. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No worries. We can do girl talk if you want." George took a sip of her drink. "So, okay, here's a confession. I really had my doubts about you guys hooking up. But it looks like I was wrong. You're good together."

Nancy smiled. "Thanks," she said. That was a ringing endorsement by George's standards. "I need a skeptic around to keep me grounded. But I think we have something good going on."

"Has he said the 'L word' yet?" George asked idly, glancing over at her friend. She read her answer in Nancy's eyes before the detective could even speak. "He did! Oh, Bess is going to flip. You know we're not allowed to have major relationship developments while she's on vacation."

"She should have taken us with her, then." Nancy peered through the binoculars again, focusing herself on their current task. "What about you? How are things with your handsome hero?" she teased. George had been dating Regan Sutton, a Bayport fireman, for a few months.

"Regan's great," George said. "We're keeping it casual. We both work crazy hours, so it almost feels like a long-distance thing. But we're having a good time. He has some horses I might get to meet soon."

"Meeting the family! Must be getting serious, then," Nancy said, almost succeeding in keeping a straight face. George sniped her with an M&M.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Nancy yelped, shielding herself with her good hand.

The night wore on, slowly and steadily. The girls took turns scanning Kate's yard and scrolling through the music on their phones, searching for anything lively enough to keep them alert.

"Still a 1940s kind of girl, then," George commented, skimming Nancy's playlists.

"Did I criticize your music?"

"No judgment," George said. "Well, okay, some judgment. Don't you have any music that isn't going to put me to sleep?"

Nancy took her phone back. "I have some modern stuff on here."

"If Bess were here, she'd have us playing Truth or Dare," George said.

"Or confessing our weirdest celebrity crushes."

"That, I have to hear. 'Fess up, Drew," George said, laughing.

"Hell no."

"All right then. Let's play the Truth part and skip the dares. Worst hangover...go!"

"Absinthe. Paris last year."

George let out a low whistle of admiration. "Mine is lame. Rum, homecoming, junior year of high school. Your turn."

"Um...ok. Favorite city."

"Macchu Picchu."

"That's a mountain, George!"

"Damn. Portland, then."

"River Heights for me. No place like home."

"Seriously? Okay... Best pickle you ever ate."

"What?" Nancy laughed, lowering the binoculars.

"It's a valid question!"

The game went on in that vein, each trying to outdo the other with oddities: Highest bowling score? Worst stomach bug? Greasiest pizza? Sweatiest day ever? Worst hair day? Favorite NASCAR driver? Until finally George paused mid-question and smacked a hand down on Nancy's shoulder.

"Nan!"

"I see him." They sobered immediately and became very still, completely focused on the dark figure which had just dropped over the fence behind Kate's house. Nancy raised Joe's night vision goggles. A young man, tall and skinny, slipped across the lawn. He bent down and seemed to be searching for something. Then he unfolded a small shovel and began to dig.

"Let's move," Nancy said quietly. With the synchronicity borne of many years' collaboration, the friends eased out of the car, leaving the doors ajar to avoid making a sound. Before the digger even knew he had company, he was surrounded.

"Freeze!" Nancy barked, switching her flashlight on full in his face. "Put your hands up!" The sudden glare revealed a boy's face, frightened and pale. He dropped his shovel and shot his hands up over his head immediately.

"Don't shoot! I'm not armed!" he cried, squinting into her light. "I'm not here to hurt anything. I swear."

"You're trespassing," Nancy pointed out. "And you're digging. Honest citizens don't generally dig holes on other people's property at 3 AM."

"I'm not stealing. I'm looking for my own property," the boy blurted. "Please don't arrest me."

Nancy lowered her light a bit, allowing the boy to blink some vision back into his eyes. "You're not the police," he said uncertainly.

"I'm Nancy Drew, Private Investigator. This is my associate."

"George Fayne, black belt," George said smoothly. "Don't try anything. You'll only humiliate yourself."

"We certainly can call the police if you're more comfortable talking to them," Nancy said.

"No! I mean, please don't. I'm not a criminal."

"I hate to belabor the point, but again: digging up someone else's yard in the wee hours..." Nancy said contemplatively.

"I can explain."

Nancy grinned. It was a very feline, satisfied grin. "I certainly hope you can. What's your name?"

"Brendan. C-connolly. Brendan Connolly, ma'am."

"Come with us, Brendan."

Kate's kitchen was warm and bright, a welcome reprieve from their long nocturnal vigil. Nancy wrapped her cold fingers around a hot mug of cocoa and gazed across the table at the worried face of Brendan Connolly. George stood impassively at the head of the table, arms folded. An amused Kate, wrapped in a fuzzy robe, watched from the doorway.

"Let's hear that explanation, Mr. Connolly," Nancy suggested.

"Brendan," he said awkwardly.

"Brendan, then. How old are you?"

"Nineteen. I'm a student at RHCC."

"I'm not your biographer, Brendan. I'm a private eye. What were you doing out there tonight?"

"And several previous nights," Kate chimed in. "My yard looks like mutant moles have colonized it."

Brendan's head swiveled toward the doorway. "I'm really sorry." He swiveled back toward Nancy, adam's apple bobbing. "I was telling the truth. I'm looking for my own property. Family property," he added, as if that clarified anything. He started to reach for his pocket.

"Hands on the table!" George snapped. The boy's hands shot into the air.

"I'm just- I have a photograph-" he stammered. Nancy nodded.

"Show me." He eased it out of his wallet and slid it across the table for her inspection: a faded old black-and-white snapshot of a young man, tall and thin and solemn in his Army uniform, standing beside a pretty brunette.

"My great-grandparents."

"And they lived here, in this house?"

"No, the house is new. But this was their land." Brendan touched the photo. "Diarmid Sterling Connolly and his wife, Mary. This was taken before the war. He died a few months later at Pearl Harbor."

"How tragic," Nancy said softly.

"He was just starting to build their new house here when he got orders. He buried something in the foundation before he shipped out. He told Mary it was an insurance policy for her and the children. But she never could find it. All we know is that it was inside a metal box about this big," he said, hands fluttering in the air, outlining the dimensions of a small box.

"So you're tearing up my lawn on the basis of family hearsay," Kate said.

"It's here. I know it is."

"Why is it so important that you find it, after all these years?" Nancy asked. "You don't even know what it is."

Brendan looked at her. "You're a detective," he said. "Don't you understand? I just need to know. I need to solve it." He shrugged, self-deprecating. "Plus, I'm the closest thing to a family historian we've got. It's part of our past. I've got everything else. Birth certificates, census reports, death certificates, property deeds, newspaper clippings...this would be like the crown jewel of the collection."

George leaned in, placing her palms flat on the table. "Kid's a nerd, Nancy."

"I can see that," Nancy said, her lips tugging into a smile much warmer than the one she had worn earlier. Despite herself, she was warming to this boy. Her instincts told her he was telling the truth. And he was right. She did understand the passion, the need to solve the puzzle.

"What do you think, Kate?" she said, looking over. Kate shrugged.

"I say rent a metal detector and do the job properly. No sense tearing up my whole lawn and giving yourself blisters. Maybe you'll even find it before the ground freezes."

Brendan's face lit up. "Really? Are you serious?"

"Serious as a funeral. Just one favor, kid."

"Anything."

"Do your digging in daylight from now on."

************************************************************************

As promised, Joe was in bed. His bedroom light was on and so was his laptop, with an assignment for his college English class pulled up on the screen. Joe himself was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, and his motorcycle jacket; his face was by the computer, his feet were under his pillow, and he was sound asleep. Nancy closed the door silently and turned out the light, leaving the small desk lamp on to illuminate her preparations for bed. She moved his laptop to the desk, made sure his work was saved, and powered it down for the night. On the bed, Joe's eyes flew open.

"It's me," Nancy said quickly, crossing over to sit next to him. He relaxed, redirecting the hand that had been going for his knife to take Nancy's hand instead.

"What time is it?"

"4:50."

"You just got in?"

"Uh-huh."

"Damn. Long night." He eased himself upright, scooting back to lean against the headboard and patting the spot next to him in invitation. Nancy crawled up to sit beside him, leaning into his warmth. "I like your pajamas," she said, stroking the leather of his jacket sleeve.

"I meant it as a kind of re-do," Joe said. "I'm sorry about this afternoon."

Nancy leaned into him, burying her head in his shoulder, breathing in leather and laundry detergent and Joe. "I'm sorry too. Next time you get scared will you tell me?"

"Let's hope there isn't a next time."

"There's going to be lots of next times. Every case has its risks."

"So we'll be careful."

"Acceptable risks. Got it," Nancy murmured.

"I figured out who gets to determine that," Joe said. His eyes were closed.

"Oh?"

"Love does." His eyes popped open. "Cheesy. Yeah. Hear me out. Because I love you, I'll be a little more cautious on my own cases. You love me, you'll be a little more cautious. And we both get to keep doing what we were born to do."

"That sounds fair to me," Nancy said. Joe cupped her face in one hand, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

"Tell me about your stakeout."

"Case closed!" Quickly Nancy filled him in on the case and the night's events.

"So, no collaboration then," he said, disappointed.

"George is babysitting Myra all week, so my offer still stands if another case comes along. Especially while this hand is healing."

"Good. I was looking forward to working with you again." Joe pulled her closer, rolling onto his side and cupping her hips toward his. Nancy bit lightly at his neck above the collar of his jacket, caffeine and adrenaline still whirling through her system.

"Do you really want to sleep in this?"

"Sleep? No," he said mischievously. "I have something else in mind. It involves this jacket, your pink silk teddy, and the timer function on my camera."

Nancy paused, her mind immediately flooded with images: Joe, powerful and dangerous in black leather; herself, innocent and feminine in pink silk and lace. It was a delicious, tantalizing juxtaposition and it would make for some compelling photographs.

"It's a good idea, right?" Joe said, watching her face.

"Fantastic," Nancy agreed.

"Another night, then," Joe said. "Sometime when we are both alert enough to operate the camera."

"How about a dress rehearsal?" Nancy murmured, trailing kisses along his neck. She knew, on a clinical level, that her body was exhausted. But she was still riding the high of a successful mission; and on top of that, after the events of the day, she needed his touch, needed the intimacy and the comfort and the catharsis of sex. This, too, came with the lifestyle, and Joe understood.

"Come here," he said, rolling her onto her back. One knee nudged her legs apart so he could settle himself between her thighs, using the weight of his body on hers to help her ground her swirling energy. Lips sought lips and met in a bruising, needy kiss. Nancy moaned into his mouth and arched up against him, seeking more.

"I've got you, Nan. Let your mind go."

Joe was the same in bed as he was out of it: joyful, generous, playful, and energetic. That night, there was a new dimension to their coupling, a deep, almost solemn sense of gravity. The act was deliberate, slow, sweet, and powerful. Joe never took his eyes off her face; his hands, strong and gentle and skillful, anchored her through the tumult of desire and the overwhelming wave-break of pleasure that followed. Nancy trembled, afterward, and clung to him. _I love you. I love you. I love you._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Hannah's Mystery

"Nancy! You're awake!" Callie exclaimed, pausing in the kitchen doorway. "Frank said he thought he heard you come in around 5 this morning."

"I forgot to cancel my phone alarm," Nancy said, yawning. "After it went off I just couldn't get back to sleep." She cracked a second egg into her pan and tossed the shells into the little bin destined for the compost pile.

"You poor thing. How much sleep did you get?"

"I think we fell asleep around 6. So almost two hours."

"That's awful," Callie said sympathetically.

"Nothing a pot or two of coffee won't fix. I'm making veggie omelets. Want one?"

Callie pinched her lips tight, trying to cover her distaste. "No, thanks, sweetie." She crossed to the cabinet and pulled out a box of crackers, pulling one out for a tentative taste. For a few moments the only sounds in the kitchen were the peaceful domestic sounds of breakfast in the works: veggies sizzling, eggs hissing, the gurgle and drip of the old coffeemaker. The silence spun out, neither girl quite sure how to navigate life's new balance after the previous evening's revelations. Nancy flipped her eggs and began slicing bread for toast.

"So," she said. "Weird night, huh?"

"So weird," Callie said fervently.

"Are you okay, Cal? Mentally and physically."

"I threw up this morning," Callie confessed. She took her crackers and sat down at the table, pulling her feet up onto the chair so she could hug her knees to her chest. "How cliche is that? But I feel fine now. My mind won't stop spinning, though. I wish my brain could throw up so it could move on to the feeling better part."

"There's a pleasant image."

"Sorry!"

"How is Frank doing?"

Callie shook her head. "Frank is happy. Ridiculously happy. Not faking it at all. He's starting to talk about names, and I'm still trying to make myself believe it's not a bad dream."

"Oh, Callie." Nancy set down her spatula and went to hug her friend. "Frank loves you. We all love you. Take all the time you need to process this."

"Thanks, Nancy." Callie melted unashamedly into Nancy's embrace. "I'm scared," she confessed into Nancy's shoulder. "And I'm a little bit angry. And...Nancy, I thought mothers automatically loved their children. But I don't feel any connection. I'm afraid I'm some kind of monster." Hot tears wet Nancy's shoulder. Nancy rubbed Callie's back soothingly until her sobs quieted.

"Love is never automatic, sweetie. That's infatuation. You don't have to be infatuated with the idea of a baby to love that baby when you meet it."

"Frank said that too." Callie tried to smile. "I just- Nan, it's too much. It's like the world should have stopped turning. Everything around me is normal and I'm sitting in the middle of it all, completely bewildered."

Nancy pulled her friend close again. "We've got you, Cal. You're going to be all right." And Callie leaned on her shoulder, seeming to draw courage from the embrace.

Joe's voice startled them back to reality. "Morning, girls. Who ordered eggs flambe?" He was bare-chested and clad in a pair of garish green running shorts.

"My eggs!" Nancy gasped, leaping up to rescue them.

"They're all right. Just a little scorched," Joe said. "So, Mom's already texted me three times, apologizing for Aunt Gertrude. I wouldn't be surprised if she has a fruit basket and a singing telegram sent over before lunch."

"Oh, that poor woman," Callie said, dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "I'm going to call her. She has nothing to apologize for. And, anyway, Gertrude wasn't entirely wrong about me."

"She was unnecessarily cruel," Joe said heatedly. "And she damn sure was wrong about Nancy."

"By her standards, no," Nancy said.

"I don't care. Family or no, nobody gets to call my girlfriend a whore."

"Joe, it's all right. Let it go," Nancy said, handing him a plate of eggs and toast. "Here. You can have the one with less char."

"She cooks, she cleans, she fights crime," Joe intoned, holding his plate aloft. "I'm a lucky man, boys."

Rolling her eyes at him, Nancy sat down with her own plate. "Are you sure you can't eat something, Callie?"

"I'll make some toast," Callie said reluctantly.

"How's the little guy doing?" Joe asked, getting up to pour coffee for himself and Nancy.

"I have no idea. I can't feel it in there yet."

"Seriously?" Joe looked from one girl to the other. "You can have a whole other person inside your body and not feel a thing?"

"It's incredibly small at this stage, Joe," Nancy said.

"Just a few cells, really. I mean, I feel differences in my own body, but there's no way I can feel the baby yet." Callie dropped a slice of bread into the toaster. "You guys have no idea how surreal it is to say that."

"Now, just for the sake of reference, how did this come about?" Joe asked. Nancy smacked his arm.

"Joseph! Not funny."

"No, no, I don't mean the sex part. I mean, where did things go wrong? Did you forget a pill, or break a condom, or what? Because I'd like not to duplicate the process."

"Rude," Nancy scolded.

"Honestly, I don't know," Callie told him. "We did everything right."

Joe was quiet a moment. Then he looked up, grinning. "So I guess you could say Frank's sperm is... _hardy_." Nancy smacked him again.

"That's it. Get out," Callie ordered, laughing despite herself.

"You can't order me out of my own kitchen!"

"Then I'll go. I need to finish getting ready for work anyway." Callie plopped her toast on a plate and swept off toward Frank's bedroom.

Left alone, Nancy rolled her eyes at Joe again. "You're a mess."

Joe gave her his best innocent face. "It was a perfectly valid question. Don't tell me you weren't wondering too."

"Well. Maybe a little."

"I knew it." Joe collected their empty plates and took them to the sink to rinse them. "I'm sorry again about yesterday, Nan."

"You're as bad as your mother. Aunt Gertrude's behavior isn't anyone's fault."

"No, I mean the other thing."

"Oh." Nancy sipped her coffee. "I'm sorry. I'm a little slow this morning."

"It's okay," he said, placing the dishes into the dishwasher. "I just don't want to move on and act like nothing happened."

Nancy considered this for a moment. "I think we talked it out pretty well. We'll just have to remember to keep talking about it."

"That's what I think too." Joe settled back into his chair. "So what's on the agenda for today, Captain Drew?"

"You're off the hook, Private Hardy. Remember? We caught our guy last night."

"If I were you, I'd stay home all day," Callie said, re-emerging swathed in a long coat, with a woolly crimson hat pulled down over her hair. She carried her purse and an umbrella.

"What are you up to today?" Nancy asked.

"I am going over to River Heights to supervise the crew hanging paintings at a new gallery," Callie said with satisfaction. "If the weather were a little better, I'd be really excited about this."

"Frank says it's going to be like this all week. He watches the weather channel every morning like he's 80," Joe said, peering out the window. Cold, relentless rain was falling from a leaden sky into icy mud. "Be careful driving, Callie. Do you want me to take you over there in the truck?"

Callie leaned in to kiss the top of his head in an affectionate, older-sisterly way. "You're sweet, but my car can handle it." She blew a kiss to Nancy too and headed out.

"You should go back to bed," Joe told Nancy, watching her top off her half-drunk coffee.

"I'll be fine. I wanted to get over and see Hannah this morning. What are your plans for the day?" she called, heading for the bedroom with her mug. Joe tagged along and began rummaging in his closet for something to wear.

"Nothing much. Class work online, go to the gym, swing by the grocery store. Maybe hang out with Chet. Are you getting a shower?"  
"No, I just felt like walking around holding a towel." Nancy danced past him into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door only halfway so she could still see him in the bathroom mirror. She hung her towel on a hook and turned the water on to warm up.

"What if it had been me?" Nancy asked suddenly, carefully slipping her earrings out of her ears. Startled, Joe stopped in the act of pulling off his shorts.

"What do you mean?"

"You know. What if I was the one dealing with a surprise pregnancy?"

"Well." He carefully freed himself from the shorts and spent a few moments fussing over them, folding them carefully before draping them over his desk chair.

"It's not a test, Joe. Not really. I'm not going to spring anything on you."

"I'm thinking," he said, half-sitting on the edge of his desk.

"You'd be freaking out," Nancy said softly. She turned away from the mirror and slipped out of her pajamas, a pair of leggings paired with one of Joe's raglan softball t-shirts. The bathroom was beginning to fill with steam. She adjusted the water temperature and stepped in, letting the pelting water soothe her tired muscles.

"Yeah, probably. Just another of the many ways I fall short of Frank's shining example. But you would be too," Joe replied from outside the bathroom.

"Is it a horrible thought, me pregnant with your child?" she said, reaching for her shampoo.

"Nancy. No. Of course not."

"Then why were you making such a big deal out of it with Callie?"

He stepped into the bathroom then, closing the door behind him, and poked his head past the shower curtain. "You and me having a baby? It's a big deal, Nan, and if we ever get to that stage I want it to be the kind of big deal that we talk about and plan and anticipate together. I just want the happiness, not the shame or the worry."

Nancy stepped over and kissed him, cupping her sudsy hands around his face. "If that had been a test, you would have passed," she murmured.

"If all my tests finished with a gorgeous girl kissing me in the shower I might put a little more time into studying," Joe joked.

****************************************************************************************************

Despite all her dawdling over breakfast, it was still only a little past 10 when Nancy arrived at her father's house. Nancy paused in the doorway to sniff appreciatively and strip off her ice-dappled coat. The Drew home, always a hospitable place, was especially welcoming on this gloomy autumn day, bright and warm and filled with delicious scents.

"Hi, Hannah!" she called, toeing off her boots as well.

"In the kitchen, dear," Hannah called back.

"I thought as much," Nancy said, smiling as she made her way down the hall. "Something smells wonderful."

"Nancy," Hannah said, greeting her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "It's so nice to see you."

"I'm sorry, Hannah. I know I haven't been home as much as I used to be."

The housekeeper stepped back to the kitchen island to resume her work. "No need to apologize, dear. Every chick hops out of the nest sooner or later."

"Well, this chick does not intend to ever hop too far away," Nancy said affectionately. Extracting one of the housekeeper's voluminous aprons from a drawer, she tied it on over her fleece-lined leggings and tunic. "How can I help? Bearing in mind I still have an injured wing." She held up her bandaged hand.

"Well," Hannah said, casting her gaze about the kitchen. "Can you fold those napkins for me?" She pointed toward a basket heaped with freshly-laundered cloth napkins on the sideboard.

"Busy work," Nancy complained good-naturedly. "Let the record show that I attempted to be helpful."

"Oh, hush, girlie," Hannah scolded. "You're keeping me company. That's help enough."

"What are you making?" Nancy asked, settling herself on a stool at the other end of the island, with the napkin basket in front of her.

"It's just our supper for tonight. I've been craving chicken soup and homemade bread, the way the weather has been lately. But today is my day to help out with the children's program at the library, so I'm getting an early start."

"Good idea," Nancy said, folding napkins on autopilot as she watched Hannah sprinkle flour onto the counter and begin kneading her dough.

"What's on your mind, Nan?" Hannah asked, startling the younger woman back from her woolgathering. Nancy gave a rueful laugh.

"There's no hiding anything from you," she said.

"I know you much too well for that," Hannah agreed. "You look like you're carrying a bit of a burden this morning. Let Hannah help you carry it."

"I had," Nancy said thoughtfully, "a difficult day yesterday. That's all. And a long night." She folded another napkin, tugging the corners into meticulous alignment. Hannah just waited, face compassionate and hands deftly working the bread dough. And somehow Nancy found the whole sordid story coming out- Gertrude's filthy accusations, Nancy's lingering upset, Callie's surprising news, her fight with Joe, and George's short-lived case. Hannah listened patiently to the entire recital, but her expression grew darker and darker.

"Nobody has any right to talk to my girls like that. Not even Gertrude Hardy," she said tersely.

"Hannah, aren't you going to say that she was wrong?"

Hannah sighed. "You know I don't exactly condone all your goings-on." She drew a tea towel over the dough and went to the sink to rinse her hands. "I love you. Nothing can change that. And I love Bess and George and Callie and Helen, too. You're all good girls, even if your morals are a bit modern. The way you girls do things...I just wouldn't do it, and that's a fact. But I also wouldn't go haring off after criminals at risk to my own life and limb. I reckon we're all called to be true to our own convictions and leave other people to theirs."

"Are you disappointed in me, Hannah?" Nancy asked anxiously.

"I'd tell you if I were, dear," the housekeeper said frankly.

"I believe you would," Nancy said.

"Someone has to keep your reckless little head on straight," Hannah said, smiling to soften her words. "I worry about you, Nancy. You take risks I wish you wouldn't. But your father and I both see that you are happy, that you have a good life. I have no reason to be disappointed. And what's more, my conscience is at rest. I believe I could stand up in front of your dear mother today and account for every day of her little girl's life with perfect satisfaction."

Nancy ducked her head to wipe her eyes on her sleeve, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. Hannah, never at rest for long, moved to the stove to pull the lid off the big soup pot and give its contents a stir.

"Tell me more about your case," she said briskly, giving the young detective something unsentimental to think about. Nancy wiped her eyes again.

"Hannah, do you know a family called Connolly?" she asked gratefully. "Their secret inheritance seems to be missing."

"Connolly," Hannah repeated, mulling it over.

"The boy I met was named Brendan Connolly," Nancy told her. "He said his great-grandparents were named Sterling and Mary."

"Hardly contemporaries of mine," Hannah said drily.

"You know I didn't mean that!" Nancy laughed.

Hannah was looking thoughtful. "I do recognize the name. Connolly," she mused. "I knew a Lana Connolly in school. I think she had a few brothers."

"Should we go dig up your old yearbook?" Nancy asked.

"I wouldn't know where to begin looking for that!" Hannah said. "Michael. That was one of them. And the other was...oh, his name was Sterling! But he went by his middle name. David? Douglas? Diarmid. Diarmid Connolly." She glanced at Nancy. "I wasn't close friends with any of them, dear, and we haven't kept in touch. I know Lana married Heath Rodanski soon after graduation, and that's the last I've heard of any of that clan. Do you think Brendan will find his treasure?"

"I hope he does," Nancy said.

"I have a small case for you myself, Nancy," Hannah said suddenly. "I'd almost forgotten."

"What is it?"

The housekeeper leaned in conspiratorially. "Mr Kipling's Cherry Bakewells," she said. "I can't find them in any of our local stores this year."

Nancy's eyes widened. "Not even at Fiona's Tea Shoppe?"

"Not even there. Fiona herself said they've been back-ordered for a month." Hannah looked solemn. "Thanksgiving is next week, you know, and I would hate to disappoint your father."

"It's not Thanksgiving without a Cherry Bakewell," Nancy agreed.

"If anyone can locate them, it's you," Hannah declared with confidence.

"I'll do my best," Nancy promised.

After Hannah departed for the library, Nancy braved the weather to visit all the stores within reasonable driving distance in search of their holiday treat. It was a longshot, since Hannah had been checking around for a few weeks now, but Nancy knew she had to eliminate the simple solution before moving forward with the investigation. And eliminate it she did. There was not a Cherry Bakewell to be had in the county. Returning home, she changed into a pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweater, made herself a quick lunch, and called Joe.

"Hey, Hardy. I've got a case for you," she said without preamble.

"Great," Joe said. "Name a time and place for the briefing and I'll be there."

Nancy smiled. "I can discuss this one over the phone, Joe." Quickly she explained about Hannah's fruitless search for imported British cakes.

"All right," Joe said, sounding confused but game. "Cherry what-nows?"

"Bakewells," Nancy repeated. "And they have to be Mr Kiplings brand. They were," she explained, "my mother's favorite. It was a tradition she and my father had, buying a box of these for Thanksgiving, and we've always kept it going for him."

"Ah," Joe said, his confusion evaporating. "I'm on it. But can't we just hop a flight to the U.K. and get them from the source?"

Nancy laughed. "I suppose, if it comes to that. But let's try to keep expenses to a minimum."

"Yes ma'am, Captain Drew."

They hung up and Nancy returned to her own work, taking the just-in-case angle of the investigation: browsing recipes online. She had already checked online sources for purchasing the cakes, but every site stipulated that due to the holiday rush shipping would take four to six weeks. Pinterest yielded up several recipes. Nancy pinned them with some misgivings. She knew there was no substitute for Mr Kipling's best. Maybe if Bess had been available to help, they could have had a go at it...

Nancy's phone buzzed suddenly: Bess, wanting to Facetime. Nancy accepted the call happily.

"Bess! I was just thinking about you."

Her friend's face flashed onto the screen, haloed with sunlight. "Aww. Good things, I hope," she said.

"Of course. But if I'd known how gorgeous that place was I'm sure I would have been thinking spiteful things." Nancy panned her camera, giving Bess a view of her sweater and of the rain dripping down the window.

"Sugar, you're going to hate me," Bess announced, moving her own phone to show Nancy that she was dressed in a bikini and lounging on a beach chair on white sand. Tom ducked into the frame, holding a tall drink and grinning.

"Aloha, Nancy!"

Nancy couldn't help returning his grin. "Hi, Tom. Enjoying yourself?"

"Nan, this place is amazing," Bess gushed, pushing her face back in front of the lens. "And it's the weirdest coincidence. The owner of our B&B told us her grandfather came from River Heights!"

"What are the odds of that?" Nancy exclaimed.

"I'm not even surprised," Bess declared. "Ever since I've known you, stuff like this has been happening. But at least there's no mystery attached this time."

"You look so happy. And so rested," Nancy told her friend. "You needed this. I can't even be mad at you for being on the beach while I'm shivering."

"We did need this. But seriously, Nan, we should get the girls together and come out here sometime. Do you think we can talk Callie into having a destination wedding?"

"I'm not sure it's Callie you have to convince. Frank isn't really a Hawaii kind of guy," Nancy said.

"Oh, I can handle Frank," Bess said. "He's such a white knight. All I'd have to do is convince him that it would make all Callie's dreams come true and-"

"Bess, you devious girl!"

Bess winked. "You're not the only chick with brains in this group, babe."

They chatted a little longer, until Nancy realized it was about time for her father and his date to arrive home.

"I'd better go dress for dinner," she said.

Bess, familiar with the customs of the Drew home, was unsurprised by the old-fashioned statement. But she did grin and wink at Nancy. "And I," she said, "am going to flag down that hottie I married and see if I can keep us undressed until dinner."

"You kids behave," Nancy told her friend.

"You know it. Talk soon, _ma cherie_." Bess blew a kiss and signed off.

Nancy's timing was impeccable. As she descended the stairs from her room, clad now in a more presentable sweater and slacks, she heard voices in the foyer. "Hi, Dad!" she called down, her steps quickening.

"Can those be the dulcet tones of River Heights' famous girl detective?" Carson called back, holding out a hand to assist his daughter down the last few steps. Nancy laughed.

"Ah, my adoring public," she said, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Camille. So nice to see you."

"Nancy," the petite brunette said, offering a hug in turn. "Always a pleasure. How is your hand?"

"Much better, thanks."

Carson helped Camille slip off her coat. "After you, ladies. Something smells divine in here."

"Hannah's chicken soup," Nancy said happily.

"That sounds perfect," Camille said with a shiver.

"I was just about to give Hannah a hand with the table," Nancy told them. "It should only be a few more minutes." She left the couple browsing through Carson's DVD collection and went back to the kitchen, where Hannah was ladling soup into a tureen. Nancy grabbed a tray and began stacking it with dishes and utensils.

"Don't overdo it," Hannah warned.

"You're as bad as Joe," Nancy grumbled.

"That Joe is a good man," Hannah said. "Hand me that bread basket, please."

Dinner was pleasant, if quiet. Conversation with Nancy's lawyer father and his lady friend tended toward the intellectual rather than easy banter. Several times during the meal Nancy caught herself reaching for her phone to try yet another search parameter for Hannah's cookies.

 _You need a real mystery, Drew,_ she thought ruefully after curbing her impulse to research for the fifth time.

After the meal was over, Nancy helped Hannah clean up and then joined Carson and Camille in the living room, where they were watching a French film. Carson paused the DVD and looked up at his daughter.

"Are you leaving us tonight, Nan?" Carson asked.

"Not tonight," Nancy told him. "I'm too tired to make the drive."

"We'd love for you to join us," Camille invited.

"I'll grab you a glass of wine," Carson said, starting to rise. Nancy gestured for him to stay where he was.

"I appreciate it, and I'd love a chance to brush up on my French, but I think I'd better call it a night," she said. She crossed the room to give her father a kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Dad. Camille, it was nice seeing you. Can I bring you anything before I head upstairs?"

"No thanks, sweetie. Get some rest."

Nancy's phone chimed about an hour later, just as she was dozing off. She forced one eye open to look at the screen: Joe, of course, reporting on his investigation into British confections.  
 _Update: have discovered Jaffa Cakes. Delicious. Did you know these existed?_  
 _I did!_  
 _Are you holding back information about other desserts? Not sure our relationship can survive a breach of trust like that._  
 _Joe. Darling. A woman has to have some secrets._  
 _A woman of mystery. How intriguing!_ A pause, then a second message came through. _But no Cherry Bakewells yet._  
 _There's still time. Thanks. Talk tomorrow?_  
 _Sure thing. Get some rest._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: A Body in the Library

 _Thanks to all of you who have taken the time to review! Your feedback means a lot to me. I apologize for keeping you waiting for this chapter. I do have the whole story written out, but it's a really, really rough draft and sometimes polishing it up is slow going._

"Nancy! Merciful heavens!" Hannah Gruen exclaimed, dodging out of the young detective's path. Tea sloshed over the side of her mug, spattering the floor. Nancy stopped and turned back, face contrite.

"Oh, Hannah, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"

"No harm done. I didn't burn my hand."

Nancy ducked into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel to wipe up the puddle. "I didn't see you coming. Let me make you a new cup of tea."

"Where were you off to so fast?" the housekeeper asked.

"I got a call about my case."

"Your case?" Hannah looked bewildered.

"The one I thought was closed," Nancy said. "It's not. There's been a murder."

"Heavens," Hannah said again, automatically. "Go on, honey. Don't worry about the tea."

"Thanks, Hannah. I'm really sorry," Nancy said. She planted a kiss on the housekeeper's cheek and jogged to her car, turning the key and buckling her seatbelt with her cell phone cradled between her ear and shoulder. George picked up on the fifth ring.

"What," she huffed into the phone. Nancy could hear shrill wails in the background.

"Brendan Connolly's sister just called me. Brendan was just found dead at the college library."

" _Fuck_ ," George said forcefully. Nancy found herself nodding. They had really liked the boy.

"I know."

"How?"

"Not sure yet. I'm on my way to the scene."

"I can't come out," George said. She sounded weary and frustrated. "I have Myra all morning."

"I know, George. It's okay. Sounds like you need backup more than I do."

"It's almost naptime," George said grimly. "Okay, Sherlock. Go do your thing. Keep me posted."

"Will do." Nancy clicked off the call and set her phone in her lap. After a moment, she stopped at an intersection and used the time to pull up Joe's number. His phone only rang twice before he answered.

"Acme Electronics. Joe speaking."

Nancy laughed despite herself. "Think the boss man will let you go early? I have work for you."

"Really?"

"Really. I'm five minutes from your place. I'll fill you in on the way to the scene."

Joe was waiting in his driveway. He folded himself into the passenger seat of the roadster and leaned over to kiss her hello. "You're driving!" he said.

"Well spotted, detective."

"Your hand is feeling better?"

Nancy paused and looked at it. "Yes. No. Sort of. I didn't stop to think about it."

"Switch places, Drew." Joe was already halfway out of the car. Nancy hesitated, realized that her hand did ache and she didn't feel like arguing, and vacated the driver's seat.

"Be careful with her," she said.

"Oh, this old girl and I are on great terms," Joe said, patting the dashboard. "I know how to handle her."

"I know." Nancy sighed and settled back into her seat as Joe expertly backed the convertible out of his driveway.

"Where to, ma'am?" he said, tipping an invisible cap.

"River Heights Community College."

Joe glanced at her, dropping the chauffeur persona. "Does this have anything to do with the student you met at Kate's?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Brendan Connolly was found murdered this morning. His sister, Faith, called and asked me to take the case."

Joe gave a low whistle. "A murder? The police are going to be all over this already. Why does she want you?"

Nancy shrugged. "Faith said she knows Brendan told me a little about their family mystery the other night and she wants me to work on it." She hesitated. "I really liked Brendan, Joe. He was a nice kid. I'd like to help get whoever is responsible for this."

"We'll get him," Joe said confidently, taking a corner at a speed which would have made Bess squeal.

"He must have found that family artifact," he mused aloud.

"And it must have been valuable," Nancy added. "The question is, who else knew he was searching for it? And who knew he had found it?"

"The game is afoot, eh, Drew? Too bad this isn't in Frank's jurisdiction. We could use a police connection."

"We'll manage," she said.

"We'll manage," Joe echoed.

*********************************************************************

As Joe had predicted, the library building on campus was surrounded by police cars. The young detectives parked as close as they could and approached on foot, scanning the faces of local law enforcement in search of someone they knew well enough to impose upon.

"There's Chief McGinnis," Nancy said, picking up her pace.

"Good eye," Joe said, jogging alongside her.

"Chief!" Nancy called out. McGinnis, who had been reaching for the door of his patrol car, turned around.

"Nancy Drew," he called in his booming voice. "There's my bad penny, right on time. And she's brought backup. Hello, Joe." He shook hands with Joe, then turned back to Nancy. "What's your angle, girlie?"

"The vic was involved in an incident I consulted on a few days ago," Nancy said, explaining about her open-and-shut case.

"I don't think it was open-and-shut after all," the chief said. "Come on in. You too, Hardy." As Joe followed Nancy into the lobby, the Chief rested a big hand on his shoulder.

"When are you coming to work for me, boy?" he said. "I think it's only fair that the River Heights PD should get the other half of Bayport's famous amateur detective team."

"I'm flattered, Chief," Joe said, "but police work isn't for me."

"You're smart enough for the Academy," Chief McGinnis said.

"Yes, sir," Joe agreed. "But I'm like Nancy. I like the flexibility of private investigating."

"Well, son, I can't promise I won't keep badgering you about it. We could always use more good men. Give it some thought." The Chief gave Joe's shoulder a friendly pat and moved forward to speak to the officer guarding the door to one of the library's study rooms.

"Go on in," he called over his shoulder. "You know the protocol. Let one of my officers know when you're on your way out."

"Thanks, Chief," Nancy said gratefully, and she ducked under the crime scene tape Joe was holding up for her. The crime scene techs inside looked up briefly and returned to their jobs, well accustomed to seeing Nancy or Joe around their job sites. And there, at the table in the middle of the room, was the body.

Nancy could handle this- had handled it before, more times than she liked to think about, and would doubtless handle it again many times in the future. But she still felt a pang of sorrow, standing there in the bright fluorescent lights of the campus library, looking at what remained of Brendan Connolly. He was slumped forward over the table, a open book under his head. His left hand still held a mechanical pencil. His eyes were open, staring at the blank beige wall.

"Who found the body?" Joe asked. He was prowling along the edges of the room, looking at everything; filing it all away, Nancy knew, with his uncanny ability to memorize room layouts and details.

"His sister," one of the techs told him.

"The librarian," another contradicted.

"The librarian was the guy's sister," the first man said, sounding bored. He went on dusting for fingerprints.

"Anything useful?" Joe asked, looking over his shoulder.

"This is a college library. Do you know how many prints we're going to get? And don't even get me started on the bodily fluids," the man grumbled.

"What about the weapon?" Nancy asked.

"It's not here. Doc says it looks like a bayonet wound."

"That's certainly not your everyday murder weapon," Joe said.

Nancy was looking at Brendan's notebook. "Joe. Come here."

"What is it?"

She pointed. "Take a look at his notebook. He was making a list of names. Students? Family members?"

Joe scanned the list. "Artists, I think. Take a look at those books. He's been reading up on art history."

"The heirloom," Nancy murmured. "It must have been a piece of artwork."

Joe was still scrutinizing Brendan's notebook. "Look at that, under his hand. Can you make out what it says?"

Nancy leaned in and squinted at the page. The boy had not had very good penmanship. " 'Talk to gargoylegrinning.' " What is that supposed to mean?"

"I think that means you misread something."

"You take a look, then."

Joe squinted in his turn. "Huh. That is what it says."

"Sounds like a username," one of the techs offered.

"Of course!" Nancy said, feeling stupid.

"We'll have to talk to his sister. Maybe she knows what site that could belong to," Joe said.

Nancy nodded. "I told her we'd stop by after we saw the crime scene. We might as well head over there."

***********************************************************************

Faith Connolly lived on the fourth floor of a block of apartments just off campus. She answered her door almost before Nancy finished knocking. Brendan's older sister turned out to be a slim blonde with a face that Nancy guessed would normally have resembled that of a cathedral-ceiling cherub. Today, under the weight of her fresh grief, she looked older, more sword-bearing Michael than cavorting baby angel. Her eyes were red and dark-ringed, but she was clearly making an effort to be calm and collected for her guests.

"Nancy Drew?" she said, reaching out.

"Yes." Nancy dodged the handshake, apologetically raising her hand to show the bandage. "And this is my associate, Joe Hardy."

Joe shook her hand. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Faith didn't let go of his hand. She turned it palm-down, peering at his wrist. "Nice watch. Brendan has one like that." Nancy peered over too. She had been too distracted to notice before. Joe was wearing his grandfather's watch, a 1942 Rolex- solid, with a thick strap and radioactive luminescent numbers on the dial.

If Joe was surprised by her non sequitor, he hid it well. "Thanks," he said. "I take it you share your brother's interest in antiques?"

"I do," she said. "Though that decade was really Bren's specialty. I'm more interested in the Edwardian period."

"It sounds as though you were very close," Nancy said gently.

"Yes," Faith said simply. Then, seeming to realize suddenly that they were all still standing on her threshold, she opened the door wider and beckoned. "Please come in."

"Thanks," Nancy said, walking into a surprisingly elegant hallway. Behind her, Faith closed the door, leaning her forehead against it for a moment as though gathering her strength.

" 'It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone,' " she said. Nancy and Joe exchanged glances.

"Fitzgerald?" Joe guessed.

"Steinbeck," Faith told him, leading the way into the small living room. She sat down on the sofa. The detectives followed suit, settling into a pair of very pretty chairs. The whole room was furnished with tasteful, old-fashioned accoutrements; it was not what Nancy had been expecting from a student apartment.

"Your apartment is lovely," Nancy said, giving the girl time to get her emotions back under control. Faith almost smiled.

"Thank you. Maggie and Jenny are really good at decorating."

"Maggie and Jenny?"

"My roommates. They're my cousins, actually. Margaret and Genevieve Rodanski. They're both out on their internships this morning."

"Did they know anything about Brendan's search for the missing heirloom?" Joe asked.

Faith looked horrified. "They're my _cousins_!"

"I'm sorry, Faith. We have to ask," Nancy said gently.

"Of course," Faith said, absorbing this fresh shock. "I'm sorry. I know."

"Please tell us about this morning," Nancy said, keeping her voice gentle but professional. As much as she hated seeing people in pain, she had long since learned that it wasn't her job to console or counsel witnesses. Her job was to get them justice; and if she kept things moving along, kept things businesslike, that justice would come much sooner. "You went to work as usual?"

"I went in at 7:15," Faith said, closing her eyes. Her recital was quiet, almost mechanical. "I let myself into the building. Mr. Hanley gave me my own key last semester. I started a pot of coffee in the employee break room, shelved a few books they didn't get to last night, and set up a display of philosophy books in the nonfiction room. Around eight o'clock I started checking the private study rooms. Sometimes people will leave books there, or cell phones, or jackets." She stopped. She was clenching her hands in her lap, slender fingers white with the pressure. After a moment she opened her eyes and looked at Nancy.

"Brendan was in the third one," Faith said. "I tiptoed in and grabbed his arm and it felt wrong-" She broke off, her face twisting with horror and grief.

"Take your time," Nancy said gently. The girl put her face in her hands and sobbed. Joe shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Nancy leaned over to pat her on the shoulder.

"Joe, will you hand me that box of tissues?" she murmured. He looked relieved to have something tangible to do.

Faith accepted a tissue gratefully. "Thank you." She dried her eyes. "I ran, and I called the police. And that's all I can tell you."

Joe leaned forward in his chair. "Do you have any idea who would want Brendan dead?"

Faith looked bewildered. "He was just a kid. He was a good student. He wasn't rich, he wasn't involved in anything bad."

"What about this treasure hunt he was on?" Nancy asked.

"He was looking for our long-lost millions," Faith said, shaking her head.

"Millions?" Joe interjected.

"I'm exaggerating. Whatever it was, it was supposed to be valuable, but not, like, retire to a private island valuable." Faith dabbed at her eyes with the tissue again. "I never believed it existed. But I think he actually did find something."

"Did he tell you what he'd found?" Nancy asked eagerly.

"No," Faith said. "He just texted me something...here, let me find it." She was scrolling through her phone as she spoke, and her shoulders tensed visibly. "Oh. This is the last text he ever sent me."

Nancy peered at the screen. _FAAAAAAAIIIITHHHH!_ The boy had typed, exuberantly. _I win. I found it. Come over after work tomorrow._

"We'll need to take a look at Brendan's apartment," she said, tilting the screen so Joe could read the message too. Faith nodded.

"Of course," she said. "He lives on the third floor. I can take you down there."

"Is now a good time?" Nancy asked, rising.

"Sure. Just let me grab my keys," Faith said. Still dabbing at her eyes with her crumpled tissue, she headed down the hall, presumably toward her bedroom.

Left alone, Nancy and Joe held a quick, half-telepathic meeting. Joe turned toward Nancy, the brightness of his blue eyes telegraphing _Lost treasure! This is going to be good!_

Nancy raised an eyebrow in return, nodding in the direction Faith had gone. _Do you think she's involved?_

Joe shook his head. "My gut says no," he added aloud.

"I'm ready," Faith called, her voice preceding her back down the hallway. "I'm sorry. I couldn't find my keys."

" 'Nothing is ever lost nor can be lost,' " Joe said unexpectedly, and the girl stopped, startled, in the doorway.

"Walt Whitman," she said, her voice thick with tears again. She brushed them away from her eyes with an impatient hand. "Come on. I'll take you to his apartment."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Family Time

"Come on. I'll take you to his apartment."

Nancy followed Faith toward the door, eager to be moving things along. "Faith," she said, "I almost forgot. Do you know what kinds of websites your brother was active on?"

"What kinds of websites?" Faith repeated, sounding wary. "Um. No. We were close, but not that close."

"I don't mean entertainment websites," Nancy said delicately. "I mean more like social sites or forums."

"He'd written a username on his notebook at the library," Joe added.

"I think," Faith started, opening her door; and then she broke off in confusion as a young man walked right into her. She stumbled back, bumping into Nancy, who swayed back against Joe. He steadied her and stepped forward, facing the newcomer. The stranger, meanwhile, stepped coolly around Faith and walked into the apartment. The man was tall and muscular, but the softness around his midsection betrayed that his laziness was equal to his desire to intimidate. He was wearing expensive-looking jeans and a thick jacket, unzipped to display a t-shirt bearing the phrase "It's not going to lick itself" above a picture of an ice cream cone. A tall, slender young woman followed him in, closing the door behind her as if she had every right to be there.

"Diarmid!" Faith snapped, turning to follow him down the hall.

"Faith, baby," he replied. "Got any beer?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Faith said angrily. "Don't you have any common decency?"

"Faith?" Nancy said quietly, hurrying after her. Joe was already disappearing into the living room with the intruders.

"This is my other brother," Faith said with distaste. "Diarmid, what are you doing here?"

Nancy blinked, absorbing this information. This young man, with his imposing stature and cold, hard eyes, could not have been more different from the gentle, sensitive, and slightly-built Brendan and Faith.

"Can't a guy visit his sister without getting yelled at? And during our time of mourning, no less," Diarmid said, swaggering over to the sofa. He sat, thumping his big feet down on her coffee table, and gestured for his girlfriend to sit too as though she were a well-trained dog. Everything about him made Nancy angry; her dislike was immediate, bone-deep, instinctive. She could tell Joe felt the same. Though his body language was was controlled and casual, there was a look in his eyes that gave Nancy goosebumps. He gave off the same feel as the electricity in the air before a storm. She would not have liked to be in Diarmid's place right now.

"Faith," Joe drawled, "would you like these people removed from your apartment?" He took a few steps toward the sofa, and for the first time Diarmid's self-assured expression flickered. But Faith shook her head.

"I can handle him. Diarmid, we were on our way out."

"Don't let us stop you," Diarmid said, reaching for the tv remote.

"Actually, I'm glad you stopped by," Joe said.

"Why's that?" Diarmid said warily. Next to him, his girlfriend had stopped picking at her nail polish and was looking at Joe- really _looking_ at him, really seeing him, not just noticing that he was in the room.

"Saves me the trouble of tracking you down," Joe said. He moved even closer to the sofa, so that Diarmid was forced to look up to talk to him.

"Don't tell me these are cops, Faithie," Diarmid scoffed, trying to keep his bravado in place.

"We're private investigators," Nancy said. "I'm Nancy Drew, and this is my partner, Joe Hardy."

"So?" Diarmid said, sitting back and folding his arms. "The hell do you want?"

The girl next to him peeled off her coat and stood up suddenly, revealing a perfect hourglass figure clothed in a soft crimson sweater. She offered her hand to Joe.

"My name's Allie," she said. "You're really a private detective?"

"We are," Joe said, tugging his hand out of her grasp.

"That's so sexy," Allie said, her eyes still only on him.

Diarmid reached up and tugged on one of the belt loops on her jeans, trying to unbalance her so she would sit down again. "Down, girl," he said, laughing as if it were a joke.

"What's your last name, Allie?" Nancy asked.

"Aholoka," Diarmid answered for her. "For now. We're engaged." Nancy could have sworn that for a moment the girl's vacant brown eyes sharpened, even sparked with annoyance. But a split second later she was empty again. She brushed her long, dark hair back over one shoulder, smiling at Joe, and walked around the coffee table toward him.

"I like your ink," she said, reaching for his arm. He was wearing a knit pullover with the sleeves pushed up, exposing part of the tattoo on his right forearm. Without asking permission, Allie pushed the sleeve up a little higher to admire the design.

"What is it?" she asked, catching her lower lip between her teeth in a practised expression of charming bewilderment.

"It's an engine schematic for the 1920 Excelsior 'X' motorcycle," Joe said patiently. He gently but firmly pushed his sleeves down, covering the mark before she could explore any further. Nancy was relieved. His third tattoo was higher up, on his bicep, and Nancy was half afraid that if this girl caught a glimpse of it she might just try to take off the whole sweater.

"Please have a seat, Allie," she said, keeping her tone calm.

Pouting, Allie flounced back to the sofa and sat, folding her arms to exaggerate her cleavage. Nancy caught Joe rolling his eyes. She bit her tongue, trying not to laugh.

"Diarmid, can you tell me where you and Allie were last night?" Nancy said quickly.

"Banging," Diarmid said with a leer.

Joe raised an eyebrow. "All night?"

Allie actually winked at him. "Work hard, play hard, handsome."

 _I can't remember the last time I wanted to slap someone this badly,_ Nancy thought tensely.

"We went to the diner and got milkshakes first," Diarmid said, wrapping an arm around Allie's waist. "I remember it was a little after 5:00 because they were still doing their freakin' 50s at 5 thing."

"We hate Elvis," Allie explained, as though anyone had asked for this information.

"That's right, baby." Diarmid looked back up at the detectives. "That's it. Then we went back home. I didn't talk to Brendan or anything. I haven't talked to him since, oh, shit, I dunno. Last Christmas, maybe."

"Do you know of any person who might have wanted to hurt your brother?" Joe asked.

"He was a geek," Diarmid said dismissively. "Guys like that get involved with weird shit."

Joe let that remark slide. "Did you know about the family inheritance he was looking for?" he asked.

"Did I- Look, bro, he never talked about anything else. One of the many reasons I didn't keep in touch with him."

"Okay," Nancy interjected. She had had all she could take of this couple. "Thanks for your help. We'll be in contact with you if we have further questions. Faith, would you like us to come back another time to see his apartment?"

"No," Faith said. "Let's go. Come on, Diarmid. I'm not leaving you guys alone up here again."

So they all trouped downstairs, Diarmid whining about having to get up and Allie squeezing up next to Joe so she could continue talking to him. Maybe it was just jealousy talking, but the couple gave Nancy a crawly sensation, as though she'd flipped over a rotting log and found something unpleasant squirming there. She was glad they only had a short way to walk.

Brendan's place was the typical student apartment Nancy had been expecting earlier: cluttery, furnished with mismatched odds and ends, and a bit unkempt. Unwashed dishes were stacked in the sink, and the floor had a gritty, too-long-unswept feeling under the soles of her shoes.

"Bedroom or common areas?" Joe said.

"I'll take the bedroom."

"Wilco, Captain." Joe gave her a quick salute and headed for the living room, Allie trailing in his wake. Nancy hesitated, looking back at Faith. The girl was leaning forlornly against the door, watching Diarmid rummage through the refrigerator.

"Would you like to come with me, Faith?"

"Yes, please." The girl peeled herself off the door and followed Nancy toward the bedrooms. "It's the one on the right."

"Who has the other one?"

"His roommate, Keith Tallis."

"Where is Keith now?"

"He's in class," Faith said. "But he wasn't here this weekend. He went home early Friday to meet his newborn nephew."

 _She obviously doesn't want Keith to be implicated in this,_ Nancy noticed. "How far away is his home?" she asked, pushing the subject anyway.

"A little under two hours."

"That's not far," Nancy said, leaving the rest unspoken. _He could easily have driven back and killed his roommate._

"I don't- I mean, Keith wouldn't," Faith said. She was blushing.

"Are you and Keith together?"

"No," Faith interrupted. "I mean, sort of. Maybe. I don't know. It's complicated."

 _By which,_ Nancy guessed, _she means she slept with him once and has feelings for him but is not sure whether he reciprocates._

Brendan's bedroom door swung open at a touch. "He always locks-" Faith started, and stopped midsentence. The room had clearly been searched. A bookshelf was turned over, the books spilling haphazardly across the floor and mingling with laundry from the upturned clothes hamper and dresser drawers. The mattress had been flipped off the bed, the pillows were slashed open, and a heating vent had even been yanked out of the wall.

"Wow," Nancy said, moving gingerly into the mess.

"What happened?" Faith's voice was small and worried.

"We're not the first ones here," Nancy said, stooping to look under the bed frame. "They must have been looking for the heirloom. Does it look like anything else is missing?"

"I can't tell," Faith said, looking around. "But why follow him to the library if the thing was here?"

"Maybe it wasn't here," Nancy said thoughtfully. "Maybe he'd brought it with him for reference."

"Oh," Faith said, and she sat down on a pile of shirts, looking pale and overwhelmed and very, very young.

"I'm sorry," Nancy said, though the words were desperately inadequate.

"What were you asking me earlier?" Faith said suddenly. "About a username."

"Right. Thanks for the reminder," Nancy said, snapping her attention back from the mess around them to her client. "Does the name 'gargoylegrinning' mean anything to you?"

To her credit, Faith gave it some thought before she shook her head. "Sorry, no."

"Do you know what site it might be active on?"

"I think he belonged to a few online forums for World War II enthusiasts. And he had a Facebook and a Tumblr. But like I said, the 1940s isn't my main period of interest, so I'm not on the same sites as him. Is that Brendan's username, or someone else's?"

"It looks as though it belongs to someone he wanted to discuss the heirloom with," Nancy told her. She sighed. "I don't think we'll get anything useful here. Thanks for letting me take a look."

They rejoined the group in the living room. Joe was leaning against a chair, glaring at Diarmid, who was eating a slice of pizza and flipping through tv channels. Allie was twirling a strand of hair and trying to make conversation with Joe, with little success. When Nancy entered the room he practically leapt toward her in relief.

"There you are!" he said, grabbing her good hand. He pulled her off to the side, speaking in a low tone. "Nan, I've got nothing. The only thing remotely interesting is that book over there." He pointed toward the coffee table. "It's an art book, same as what he had at the library."

"Any bookmarks or notes in it?"

"It's a textbook. Practically the whole thing is marked up with highlighter," Joe said in disgust. "It does have the name Jenny Rodanski written inside the cover."

"That's his cousin," Nancy said.

"Right. So we definitely need to talk to her."

Nancy nodded. "I didn't come up with much either," she said. "The bedroom was searched. It's a wreck, and Faith isn't sure if anything is missing. So all I'm coming away with is a deduction-"

"That the killer looked here for the heirloom before following Brendan to the library," Joe finished, nodding.

"Did you solve it?" Allie cooed, sashaying closer to them. Nancy's patience was running out. She opened her mouth to say something unprofessional; but just as she began speaking a boy stomped into the room, tousle-haired and angry.

"I don't know why the hell you people are in my house and I don't care. I'm trying to sleep! Get out!"

Faith turned bright red. "Keith! I thought you had class."

"I do," the boy said, scratching his head sleepily and further rumpling up his hair in the process. "But I drove back really late last night, so I decided to catch up on some sleep."

"What time did you get back to campus?" Nancy asked.

"About four," Keith said grumpily, yawning. "The drive sucked. Construction almost the whole way. And then I got home and found out your damn brother drank all my Mountain Dew. I'm not in the mood to go to class. If you see him, tell him he owes me."

"Keith," Faith said, tearing up again. The boy stopped and turned back, his eyes focusing on her for the first time.

"Hey," he said, moving across the room to pull her into an awkward hug. "I'm sorry. It's okay. You didn't know. Just take your friends up to your place."

"Keith, no. Brendan is dead," Faith said, pushing away from him.

"What?"

Nancy stepped in. "Hi, Keith. My name is Nancy Drew, and this is Joe Hardy. We're investigating your roommate's murder."

Keith was staring, either completely stunned or a great actor. "What," he said again, blankly. "Why? How?"

Faith filled him in, doggedly, clearly hating the words more every time she said them. As soon as she got to the part about Brendan's room being ransacked Keith broke away from the group and ran to look. Nancy and Joe followed him immediately, not wanting to give him a chance to compromise the crime scene.

"The police are on their way over," Joe said, grabbing the boy's shoulder before he could enter the room.

Keith shrugged Joe's hand off absently, staring into the room. "You said he was killed with a bayonet?" he said quietly.

"That's what the police think," Nancy agreed.

"That's bad," Keith muttered. "Brendan had a bayonet in his collection and I don't see it in there now."

Nancy and Joe exchanged a glance. "The killer must have grabbed it," Nancy murmured.

"So this was unpremeditated?" Joe murmured back.

"I'd say the theft was premeditated. The murder might have been more than our guy was bargaining for."

"His first mistake," Joe said grimly.

Back in the living room, Faith was shifting her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other and playing with her keyring. "Are we done here?" she asked plaintively.

"We're done," Nancy assured her. "Thank you so much, Faith. I know this was difficult for you, but we've picked up a few leads." She hesitated. "Do you need help dealing with Diarmid?"

But Joe was already on it, switching off the television and sort of looming while staring the insolent young man down. Diarmid caved.

"You'd better watch your back, Hardy," he sneered; but his brave words were belied by his clamping a hand on Allie's arm and practically dragging her out of the apartment.

Nancy turned to Faith. "You'd better go get a little rest," she said compassionately.

The girl smiled wryly. "No rest for me. The police are going to be over soon to talk to me. I'm afraid it's a case of 'miles to go before I sleep.' "

"Robert Frost," Nancy said, pleased to be able to identify one of Faith's references.

"Right," Faith said. She turned to head back up to her own apartment. "Thanks again for taking the case, Nancy."

"We're going to solve this," Nancy assured her. "For Brendan."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Baby Steps

As soon as Nancy settled into the passenger seat of her roadster she reached over to slip a hand behind Joe's neck, pulling him in for a none-too-gentle kiss.

"Mm. What's this for?" Joe asked, slightly confused but not at all put out by this development.

"Just staking my claim," Nancy said, and she was only half joking.

"You let Allie get to you?" Joe said. "Come on. She didn't hold a candle to you."

"Are you kidding? She's gorgeous. Way out of Diarmid's league," Nancy said incredulously.

"Nah, I think they deserve each other. They're both as dumb as they are horny," Joe said dismissively. Nancy relaxed.

"Her flirting was pretty painful to watch," she said. "She reminded me of Bess, circa seventh grade."

Joe laughed. "You mean you don't think it's _so sexy_ that I'm a detective?" he asked, pretending to pout.

"Of course I think you're sexy," Nancy said. "You were incredible in there."

"Thanks for noticing. I've been practicing my menacing look," he said, giving her a comically exaggerated scowl.

"So have I," Nancy growled, doing her best imitation of his face. The couple held the expression for a few heartbeats before Nancy broke into laughter.

"You wiggled your ears at me, you cheater!" she giggled.

"Seriously, Nan, it's okay to admit you can't play in the big leagues. You don't have to resort to mudslinging," Joe said loftily, starting the engine.

"Oh, I can play," Nancy said. "I demand a rematch. I can take you any time, any place, mister."

Joe winked at her. "You're on, babe. But I vote we have lunch first."

"Lunch sounds good," Nancy agreed. "Oh, wait. I should probably call Kate first. And I promised I'd keep George updated."

"So, call Kate now while I drive to George's. She lives right in town. We can talk to her and then walk down to the shopping center and get some food."

"Good plan," Nancy said, reaching for her phone. "Remind me again why you're still a private?"

"Beats me. My captain is really tough."

Kate had already picked up on her end. Nancy just rolled her eyes at Joe and focused on hearing George's friend over the noise of Levi singing the alphabet. Their conversation was brief.

"Nothing useful," she said, sliding her phone back into her pocket. "She says all she saw was a metal box, about this big." She gestured. "She says Brendan was ecstatic. He knocked on her door, said he'd found it, and ran off. That was Monday night."

"A metal box that size could have been an old ammo box," Joe said thoughtfully.

"Or a lunch box. Or a tackle box. Or a tool box. Or a cookie tin," Nancy added.

"Okay, okay. This is not going to be easy."

"Baby steps," Nancy told him. "We'll get there."

********************************************************

George was home, wolfing down reheated leftovers for her lunch. She waved a fork at Nancy and Joe as they walked in.

"Yo," she said, swallowing a large bite. She thrust the Tupperware toward them. "Quinoa and grilled chicken?"

"No, thanks. The Marvins must have just picked up Myra?" Nancy guessed. George nodded vigorously.

"Hallelujah, amen," she said, with her mouth full.

Nancy giggled. "I'm sorry, George."

"It's fine. Well, it's mostly fine. Honestly, Nance, I'm exhausted." George forked in a few bites of her quinoa. "I'm sorry to run out on you guys, but I have to get to the studio and teach a class in a few minutes. You're welcome to hang out here and raid my kitchen if you're hungry."

"No thanks. Joe promised me we'd get Dragon Wok takeout."

"He did, did he?" Joe said, looking amused.

"What a nice guy you are, Hardy," George said, rinsing her empty container in the sink. She turned back toward her friends, her face growing serious. "Tell me about Brendan," she said heavily, and Nancy filled her in on the morning's events.

"Any hunches yet?" George asked, when the whole story was out.

"Nothing yet," Nancy said. "We think we can rule out Faith. She seemed genuinely upset."

"What about the brother? He sounds like a massive douchebag."

Joe snorted. "True, but I'm not sure he's smart enough to pull off something like that."

"Keep me in the loop, okay?" George said. "I really wish I could help out on this one. Brendan was a nice kid."

"We will," Nancy said. "I know how you feel. I'm pretty angry about his death, too."

They all walked out together before parting ways on the sidewalk. George headed toward her martial arts studio one block over and the detectives turned down the street, toward the shopping center.

"I have an idea," Joe said, taking Nancy's hand.

"About the case?"

"No, about lunch. Don't look so disappointed!"

"Sorry. Let's hear it."

"I'll call in our food order from here, and then we can run into Target while we wait and see if they have those cookies Hannah wants," Joe suggested.

"Again with the good ideas!" Nancy said. "You really are due for a promotion."

"Wait and see if they have the cookies before you make me any promises," he said. He was already pulling up Dragon Wok's number on his phone. "What are you having? The usual?"

"Yes, please."

By the time their order had been placed they were walking into the department store. Nancy hesitated at the front of the cookie aisle. "Here, do you think? Or do they have a special aisle for imported foods?"

"We'll start here."

For a few moments the young detectives scanned the shelves in a silence broken only by a series of beeps from Joe's phone.

"You're popular today," Nancy said finally. The alerts were beginning to get on her nerves.

"It's Chet. He's trying to ask a girl out and he keeps bugging me for advice," Joe grumbled.

"Want me to set it on silent?" Nancy offered, pilfering the device from his back pocket. "Hey, Joe, these aren't from Chet. It's your mom. Here."

"Thanks."

"Is she okay? That seemed like a lot of messages."

"Yeah," Joe said absently, still reading. "She's still on a guilt trip about Sunday night. She wants to know if she can bring dinner over to our place tonight to make it up to us."

 _Our place_. The words hung on the air between them for a moment before Nancy nodded and said, "Dinner sounds nice. But I wish she would let it drop. Callie and I keep telling her it wasn't anyone's fault."

"I told her if she wants to make it up to me, what she really needs to do is get Aunt Gert to see a doctor," Joe said somberly.

"I'm sorry, Joe. It's hard to watch a family member slip like that."

"Yeah. It is." He looked at her. "Your aunt has Alzheimer's, doesn't she?"

"Great-Aunt Ruth," Nancy said, nodding. "I still go to see her regularly. But it's awful." Joe sighed. Nancy reached over and twined her fingers through his, squeezing gently.

"You can handle it. All of you. You're a strong family."

"Yeah." Joe typed one last message and tucked the phone back into his pocket. "Dad's at a convention all week, so it's possible that she's more lonely than guilty."

"I wish I'd known that. We should have invited her over sooner," Nancy said.

"Yeah, you're right," Joe said from several yards away, having returned to scouring the shelves for Cherry Bakewells.

"Hey, Joe? Let's make dessert," Nancy proposed.

Joe paused and looked over at her. "Got anything in mind?"

"How about apple crisp? Callie was just complaining the other day that we needed to use up those apples from her cousin's tree."

"Ugh," Joe said. "I hate peeling apples."

"Apple crisp, with ice cream on top," Nancy said, playing her trump card. She knew full well that ice cream was Joe's weakness.

"Oh. Well, if there's ice cream involved, I'll peel as many apples as you want," Joe said gamely. They had reached the end of their aisle.

"Nothing here," Nancy said, sounding discouraged.

"Next aisle," Joe proclaimed, leading the way.

But, having examined the entire snack food section of the store, they came up empty.

"No luck," Nancy said, looking frustrated. "And we still have ten minutes to kill."

"We need ingredients, right?" Joe pointed out. "I'm pretty sure Frank used up the butter this morning."

"Yeah, I think so," Nancy said, pulling up an apple crisp recipe on her phone. "We have flour, right? It looks like we just need brown sugar, cinnamon, and butter."

"And ice cream," Joe reminded her.

Supplies gathered, Nancy headed toward the checkout- only to realize that Joe had veered off in another direction.

"Where are you going? Our food should be ready by now." Nancy caught up with him just as he disappeared between racks of onesies and footed pajamas. She smiled.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Drew," Joe said, turning around in a complete circle and looking a bit bewildered. "Where do I start? Everything is so fuzzy in here."

Stifling a laugh, Nancy stepped closer to him. "What are you looking for?"

"Something small and fuzzy, I guess. For Callie. Well, for the baby." Joe was still scanning the area, though he had stopped spinning. "Why is it all pink or blue? We don't know which one we're getting."

"It looks like there are a few racks of gender-neutral things over there," Nancy suggested.

"Okay." Joe backed away, pointing at her. "I said lose the smirk."

Nancy didn't even try to stop smiling. She browsed a little and ended up down the toy aisle before Joe found her, looking satisfied.

"Let's see it!" Nancy said, reaching for the hanger in his hand. It was a romper in soft grey stripes, with a happy-looking dinosaur riding a motorcycle on the front.

"I figured I'd get it in the 6-month size so it would fit longer," Joe said, looking a little anxious. "Does that sound right?"

Nancy stepped forward, lifting onto her tiptoes to give him a gentle kiss. "Joe," she said, "it's perfect."

*****************************************************************

It was after two o'clock by the time they got back to the Hardys' apartment and crashed on the couch with their takeout cartons.

"Nancy, if you love me, look away," Joe announced. "I'm about to eat an obscene amount of lo mein and I don't want you to witness this. It may damage our budding relationship."

"I just spent the entire drive home listening to your stomach growl," Nancy told him. "I know exactly how much lo mein you're about to eat. Just don't put your face directly in the carton like you did at Tony's that one time."

Joe paused, a forkful of noodles halfway to his lips. He laughed. "Damn. I'd forgotten about that. I was a little drunk and I wanted to show Tony how a dinosaur would have- would you quit laughing!"

"I'm sorry," Nancy said, straight-faced. "It's perfectly rational to demonstrate dinosaur feeding techniques during meals."

"Thank you."

For some time there was a contented silence while they ate their meal. Then, hunger assuaged, Nancy curled into Joe's side and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I can't stop thinking about that username," she said.

"There can't be that many forums out there for World War II stuff, can there?"

"I bet there are hundreds," Nancy said glumly. "That's such a popular era."

"Sites specifically geared toward antiques, though, or treasure hunting," Joe said, thinking out loud. "We'll just have to keep sifting through until we find it."

"Do you think whoever gargoylegrinning is could be our murderer?"

"His note said 'Talk to gargoylegrinning.' That sounds like it was someone he considered an expert."

"So, the expert could have recognized the heirloom's worth and killed him for it," Nancy said.

"But he wrote that note the night he died. He never got to talk to this person," Joe pointed out. Nancy's face fell.

"Damn. You're right." Feeling fidgety, she got up and retrieved a laundry basket full of their freshly-washed clothes, setting it on the couch between them.

Joe groaned. "I was hoping that would disappear if we ignored it."

"Fold while you talk, Hardy. Movement gets the brain going." Nancy reached for a pair of his running shorts and shook the wrinkles out energetically.

"I bet a nap would get my brain going," Joe said with a sigh. But despite his grumbling he sat up and grabbed a garment from the pile cheerfully enough.

The basket was filled with the clothes Joe had washed Sunday night, as promised: mostly his t-shirts and running shorts, mingled with a few of Nancy's dresses and underthings. Nancy untangled a pair of her panties from the drawstring of Joe's favorite sweatpants and felt herself blushing, suddenly, at the easy, domestic intimacy of the act. She ducked her head, hoping Joe wouldn't notice.

 _You're seriously going to get weak in the knees over a pile of laundry?_ Nancy berated herself silently.

"So, Nan, the computer angle aside, got any theories so far?" Joe asked lazily, rummaging through the pile for a sock to match the one in his hand. He did not seem to notice her befuddlement. Nancy took a deep breath and grabbed a t-shirt to fold.

"I don't know yet. My gut is saying Keith is holding something back from us."

"I got that feeling too. He doesn't seem like the strong-minded type, though. I'll bet you five bucks he'll be coming to us to confess within the week."

"To the murder?"

Joe considered. "No, probably not. But he knows something about who did it or why." His phone beeped again, and he reached for it, first setting a neatly-folded blouse on Nancy's pile.

"Chet again?" Nancy asked. Her willpower was eroding. She set down one of her sports bras and leaned over the basket to press her lips lightly to the place where Joe's neck and shoulder met.

"Good old Chester and his girl problems," Joe said, leaning into her ministrations. Nancy moved up a half inch and pressed another kiss there, scraping lightly with her teeth.

"Still?" she murmured, lips moving against his warm skin.

"He's overthinking," Joe said vaguely, tossing his phone into the laundry basket. He turned and captured her lips with his own, kissing her thoroughly before deciding to scoop her into his lap. The laundry basket bumped down onto the floor and Nancy uttered a surprised squeak and then she didn't care anymore because Joe's tongue was doing fantastic things in her mouth and his hand was sliding up under her shirt to cup her breast, his thumb stroking along the lace trim of her bra.

"I'm not sure," he growled into her ear, "but the evidence suggests you just got turned on by a basket of laundry."

Nancy blushed again. "Never date a detective. Never," she said fiercely to the world at large.

"That's as good as a confession!"

"Well, look at it," Nancy said, waving a hand in the general direction of the overturned basket. "Your clothes, my clothes, all tangled up. It's almost indecent." Joe had one hand very low on her back, now, and the other was in her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her squirm against him; and since she was having trouble formulating coherent thoughts she gave up talking and worked on undoing the buttons at the neck of his pullover instead. She'd gotten him halfway out of the sweater and he had just unhooked her bra when the front door banged open and Frank walked in, red-cheeked and windblown, in a swirl of cold and frost-scented air.

"All right, kids, hands where I can see them," he said good-naturedly, hanging his keys on the hook by the door.

"Yes, Dad," Joe said. "Catch any bad guys today?"

"All of 'em," Frank told his brother. He tended to get a little sarcastic when he was tired. "We can all retire now." He lined up his shoes neatly beside the door and headed for his room, unbuttoning his uniform shirt en route.

"Whatever the opposite of 'talk dirty to me' is, I need you to do that," Joe whispered, laughing at himself as he finished stripping off his sweater and dropped it in his lap for camouflage.

"Hmm...oh, this should work: it's time for us to go peel about a dozen apples," Nancy said obligingly, sliding off his lap. "Re-hook me, please."

"Or you could just take it off."

"Joseph. Your mother will be here soon."

Joe groaned. "Fine. There. You're presentable."

"I'll make it up to you later," Nancy promised.

"Hey now. Not helpful," Joe said, but he got up anyway and headed for the kitchen. Nancy scooped their laundry back into the basket and deposited it in Joe's room; and by the time she got to the kitchen Joe was already set up with an apple peeler and a cutting board and the radio tuned to the local classic rock station.

"Joe, did you steal the radio from my emergency kit again?" Frank said, wandering in to pour himself a glass of juice.

"I'll put it back," Joe told him, dropping a long spiral of apple peel onto the counter. "Dammit. I almost had the whole peel off in one piece that time."

"If we end up trapped in a blizzard with a dead radio because you can't chop fruit without background noise, I'm going to inflict severe pain on you," Frank groused.

"Background noise?" Joe repeated indignantly. "This happens to be The Who."

"Background noise," Frank shot back. They weren't really fighting; in fact, their give and take was almost running on autopilot. The brothers had long ago learned to coexist on friendly terms despite the differences in their personalities.

"The grapevine tells me you two showed up at a River Heights Community College murder scene," Frank said, changing the subject. He peered at the recipe pulled up on Nancy's phone and got down a bowl to mix the topping without being asked. "Got any leads?"

Joe outlined the facts of the case, with Nancy chiming in every now and then.

"What kind of books were at the scene?" Frank wanted to know.

"Art books," Joe said, shrugging. "Nothing too specific. One was about early American art, I think, and another was about American painters."

"My guess is that the heirloom was a painting," Nancy said. "And we can assume it dates from anywhere between the mid-1700s to the 1930s."

"As you can see, we've just about got the whole thing wrapped up," Joe told his brother.

"Clearly," Frank said, reaching for the brown sugar. "What you guys need to do is talk to Callie about it. She's a walking art encyclopedia."

"Oh, sure," Joe said. "She'll love that. 'Hey, Callie, tell us about an American artist who lived sometime between the 18th and early 20th centuries.' She'll know exactly who I'm talking about."

"Okay, so it wasn't my best idea!" Frank shot back. "But it can't hurt, right? She might have ideas."

"I think our next step is to interview the Rodanski sisters," Nancy said. "Faith mentioned they have a free hour between classes tomorrow morning."

"I wanted to have another talk with the roommate," Joe told her.

"Okay. We'll split up. You take Keith and I'll take the girls. And I'll go straight from there to my doctor's appointment."

"Are you finally getting those stitches out?" Frank asked.

Nancy flexed her hand experimentally and unwound her bandage to take a look. "They look pretty good. I think Dr. Hammond will go ahead and take them out."

"I had to talk her out of pulling them out by herself the other day," Joe said, shaking his head.

"They itch," Nancy explained. "Anyway, Joe, I don't know how long my appointment will take. But let's plan to meet for dinner at the Moonlight Diner. They make great burgers, and we can try to interview the staff about Diarmid and Allie."

"They were there much earlier than the time the murder was committed," Joe said. "Their milkshakes aren't really an alibi."

"No, but a waiter's opinion of someone's character is always interesting. Plus, I'm really craving one of their mocha caramel shakes now."

"You don't have to twist my arm," Joe said, grinning. "Make mine a double fudge, though."

"Is that the last apple?"

"Indeed it is. Frankie, slide that bowl on down."

"All yours," Frank said. He was beginning to look less stressed, as though the work and the companionship were erasing the strain of his workday. "Do either of you know what Mom is bringing?"

"Not a clue," Joe said, rinsing his hands and the cutting board in the sink. "But when has Mom's cooking ever let us down?"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Domestic Interlude

 _A/N: This is a long one. Mainly fluff, but a lot of little things here lay the foundation for later events. There's a bit of Adult Interaction at the end so skip that if it's not your cup of tea. Though...if it's not, why are you reading an M-rated fic? :) I apologize for taking so long to update. There's been a lot going on, and this chapter fought me the whole way. Mystery should pick up again in Ch. 9._

Nancy was just sprinkling the last of the crumb topping mixture over her cinnamon-sugar-coated apples when Mrs. Hardy let herself into her boys' apartment. She was carrying her purse and a tote bag and a large, covered casserole dish.

"Hello, everyone," she called, pushing the door closed with her elbow.

"Mom, give me that!" Joe scolded, hurrying over to relieve her of her baggage. "We didn't hear you pull up. You should have honked the horn at us or something."

"I'm not a doddering old crone just yet," Laura said, sending him off toward the kitchen with a kiss on the cheek and a swat on his rear. "Nancy, is that an apple crisp? It looks divine."

"It was all my idea," Frank joked, bending to kiss his mother.

"Oh, I'm sure," she said. "Will Callie be joining us, sweetie?"

"No, she already had plans to eat with her parents tonight."

Joe was rummaging in the tote bag, setting out a line of ingredients on the countertop. "Holy cow, Mom. You brought half your kitchen!"

"We could have come over," Frank chided his mother gently. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"I thought things would be a little more relaxed over here," Laura said, moving toward the sink to wash her hands. "And it wasn't much trouble. I just tossed everything in my bag and hopped in the car."

"How can we help, Mrs. Hardy?" Nancy asked.

"Well..." The older woman looked around, considering. "Would you like to chop the vegetables for a salad? And boys, remind me again which cabinet your pans are in."

***************************************************************  
 _The kitchen is the heart of the home,_ Hannah liked to say, and Nancy had never believed it more than at this moment. She and Frank were chopping vegetables and Mrs. Hardy was pottering about, sliding her lasagna into the oven to warm and slicing a loaf to make garlic bread, and Joe had hopped up to sit on the kitchen island and join in the flow of conversation; and through the chatter and the activity Nancy could feel joy pulsing like a steady heartbeat.

The Hardys and Nancy had just sat down to a delicious-looking meal when Chet Morton walked in.

"Hi, folks," he said cheerfully.

"Chet, you're a little early," Frank teased their friend, who was famous for his uncanny knack of showing up just when dessert was being served. "Your radar must need recalibration."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Chet said with tremendous dignity, taking the empty chair next to Frank.

"Come on in. Have a seat," Joe said sarcastically.

"Don't you mind him, Chet. You're welcome to join us," Laura Hardy said, already passing him the salad.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hardy. Everything looks delicious."

"I know you didn't come out here just to eat our food. What's up?" Frank said.

Chet pointed his fork at Joe. "He stopped answering my texts."

"Oh, for crying out loud. Chet, there's only so many ways I can say 'grow a pair and ask her.' "

"It's not that simple!" And Chet was off, spouting off a complicated story involving the new salesgirl at the company where Morton & Swift Automotive bought their vintage and foreign car parts, who had been flirting with him over the phone for a few months but who may or may not have a boyfriend, and whom he had finally met in person this morning.

"She's gorgeous," Chet finished glumly. "And she's probably just a very friendly person. I don't want to come across as some perv who can't understand a girl being friendly, you know?"

"If your instincts say she was flirting, why not go for it?" Nancy said. She exchanged a quick glance with Joe. They both knew that Chet still saw himself as the overweight and bumbling boy all the girls had laughed at in high school, rather than the fit, successful business owner he had become.

"But what if I'm wrong?" Chet asked.

 _Joe was right. He is overthinking_. "Then she says no and you both move on," Nancy told him. "She won't think you're a creep unless you act like one."

"Nancy is right, Chet," Mrs. Hardy said. "You're both adults. What's so embarrassing about asking her to have a cup of coffee with you sometime?"

"Thank you, ladies. When you put it that way, it makes sense." Chet glared at Joe again. "And that is all I needed from you, Little Hardy. Would that have been so hard?"

Joe raises his hands defensively. "I'm pretty sure I told you the same thing. You just didn't want to hear it from me."

"In his defense, Chet, I kept him pretty busy all afternoon," Nancy said, passing Chet another helping of lasagna.

"Busy?" Frank snorted. "When I got home you two were making out on the couch like teenagers."

"It's all part of the process," Joe said, unabashed.

"We have a new case," Nancy explained.

"Are you free to talk about it?" Mrs. Hardy asked. Nancy wondered for a moment whether it were politeness or genuine curiousity. Surely after all these years she had to be sick of mysteries! _Or maybe this is where the boys get their boundless curiousity. Courage and dogged intelligence from Fenton, people skills and desire for answers from Laura._

Joe had just begun to tell his mother about the murder when the door banged open again and Callie stormed in. Her cheeks were red with more than the cold and her eyes glittered angrily.

"Callie?" Frank said, rising to meet her. Chet stood up too and went to grab a plate for Callie and a stool for himself to sit on.

Callie tossed her coat over the back of a chair. "Hi, everybody," she said, stalking toward the kitchen.

"Callie, what's wrong?" Laura Hardy asked, setting down her fork.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?" Callie said, allowing Frank to seat her in Chet's vacated chair. She waved a hand at Chet. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not sure I can eat right now."

"Just in case." Frank accepted the plate and a set of utensils from Chet and sat down. "I'll take the bad news," he said. "And I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that you told your parents about the baby."

"I just wanted them to be happy for me!" Callie said. She was trembling with a mixture of anger and sorrow. Frank pulled her close, trying to steady her, though his own jaw was tense with anger.

"I told you we needed to tell them together," he said.

"I know. I'm sorry. It just came out."

Nancy was feeling terribly awkward and was glad when Mrs. Hardy spoke up. "What did they say, sweetheart?"

Callie lifted her head from Frank's shoulder. "I'm a disgrace. They have no daughter anymore. I'd better not come crawling back to them for help after Frank walks out on me. Among other things."

"When I walk out on you?" Frank repeated angrily. "Why would they think I would do that?"

Joe was angry, too, his blue eyes dark and dangerous. "They disowned you for giving them a grandchild?"

"I'm not surprised. I've been on thin ice with them ever since my roommate let it slip that I spend so many nights here." Callie laughed, a short, mirthless sound. "At least our wedding guest list just got a lot shorter. We might come in under budget after all."

Mrs. Hardy was frowning. "Callie, if this isn't too big an intrusion, Fenton and I would like to meet with your parents about this."

"I don't know if they'll hear you out. But I really appreciate the offer." Callie turned back to Frank. "Ready for the good news?"

"Sure," he said.

"The realtor called me right before I went to my parents' house."

"Don't tell me," Frank started, and Callie put a finger to his lips to silence him.

"I said it was good news, hon. We got the house."

Frank sat for a moment, stunned. "We got the house? They accepted our offer?"

"Yes!" Callie said, laughing for real this time. "We have a house!"

"Congratulations, you two!" Nancy cried.

"Yes, congratulations. That's wonderful news," Mrs. Hardy said warmly.

Frank, who had been kissing Callie, broke away to look at his brother. "Joe, aren't you going to congratulate us?"

"Congratulations," Joe said quietly.

"You knew we were house-hunting," Frank said.

"Yeah, I knew, but I thought it would take a little longer. I'm gonna miss you guys. But I really am happy for you."

"I think I know how to make you feel happier," Callie told him. "Think about how much babies cry. And think about how small this apartment is."

Joe grinned. "Suddenly, a nice, quiet, empty apartment isn't sounding so bad."

"You could always move in with Chet," Frank joked.

"No way," their friend said immediately.

Joe clutched his heart as if grasping an imaginary dagger. "Chet. I'm hurt."

"I like living alone. Nobody messes with my kitchen and I have an entire extra bedroom for storage."

"Do you really need that much storage space?" Mrs. Hardy asked curiously.

"Absolutely," Chet said earnestly. "I've picked up a lot of hobbies over the years, and sometimes the equipment is pretty bulky."

"Yeah, like that propeller sled," Joe teased.

"And all the taxidermy squirrels," Frank added.

"Don't forget the video equipment," Joe said.

"There's nothing wrong with having an inquisitive mind," Mrs. Hardy said, cutting short the brothers' friendly ribbing. "Heaven knows you boys picked up your fair share of hobbies, too. I think the state of our barn can attest to that."

"Yeah, but our stuff was always useful. Chet's tried everything from hula dancing to airplane building," Joe pointed out.

"I never hula danced. And how many times did my expertise save your investigation?" Chet shot back.

"The man has a point, Joe," Frank said, shrugging.

"Anyway, the point is, I like my independence. And I bet you will too, when you get used to it."

At that point Callie, who had tried a bite of Frank's lasagna, suddenly bolted from the table. Without a word Frank went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of ginger ale and a sleeve of crackers.  
"She's been having trouble keeping food down," he said unnecessarily.

"Oh, the poor girl," Mrs. Hardy said. "I remember that stage. I lived on plain pasta and peppermint tea for about four months when I was pregnant with Joe."

"That sounds horrible," Nancy said. "I remember how sick Bess was with her first pregnancy. It seems so unfair not to be able to eat at a time when you need good nutrition more than ever."

Frank looked startled. "I hadn't thought of it that way. I wish I could help more."

Laura Hardy reached out to pat her son's hand. "You're doing all the right things, sweetie."

"I'm so sorry," Callie said, returning to the table. "Mrs. Hardy, you know I love your cooking, but-"

"Trust me, sweetheart, I understand," Laura Hardy said kindly. "Don't feel obliged to sit the meal out with us. We won't be the least bit offended if you want to leave the table."

Callie took a cautious sip of her ginger ale, squeezing Frank's hand in thanks. "It's not the sight or the smell that bother me. I just can't put it in my mouth," she said unhappily.

"The torment of Tantalus!" Chet said, shuddering.

"Those seasickness wristbands are supposed to help," Joe said offhandedly, reaching for another slice of garlic bread. Every head at the table swiveled toward him as one.

"That is an odd piece of information for you to have," Frank said.

Joe just grinned. "It's my business to know odd bits of information," he said cheerfully.

From that point on the meal proceeded exactly the way Sunday's dinner should have, with good food and pleasant conversation and warm companionship: in short, everything needed to nourish the soul as well as the body. Even Nancy, whose restless mind was always running through the facts of her current mystery, felt at peace.

After the meal, Nancy waved Mrs. Hardy and her sons out of the kitchen. "I'll take care of the dishes," she said firmly. "Go spend a little time together."

"I won't argue with that," Mrs. Hardy said with a smile. "Come on, boys."

"I'll help," Chet offered, lingering behind. "It's the least I can do after crashing the party."

Nancy closed the oven door on her apple crisp and set a timer. "Thanks, Chet. I'll wash, you dry. Cal, are you all right?"

Callie, who was still seated at the table, nodded and lifted her glass in a sort of vague salute. "I'm all right. Just taking it slow," she said. She looked very tired. Nancy, who suspected that the brave face her friend had put on after telling her news was only a front, was tempted to pry. But with Chet in the room, she held her tongue. Knowing Callie, the girl would open up to her later that evening.

"Okay. Please let me know if you need anything," Nancy said, pulling on a large pair of pink rubber gloves. Chet snickered.

"Not a word, Chet. They keep my stitches dry."

"Oh, I wasn't going to make fun of you," Chet said. "I was going to say, shouldn't you ask before borrowing Frank's gloves?"

"Ha ha," Frank called acerbically from the living room.

Between the two of them, Nancy and Chet had the dishes washed and the kitchen tidied up by the time the oven timer beeped. Together they made up a tray with the coffee pot and dishes of hot apple crisp topped with large scoops of vanilla ice cream, and carried it out to the living room.

"Dessert is ready!" Nancy announced. "Callie, would you like any?"

Callie cast a longing look at the confection. "No, thanks. I'm going to go change into something comfy."

By the time she reappeared, clad in yoga pants and an oversized hoodie belonging to Frank, only Nancy and Laura remained in the apartment.

"Where did everybody go?" she asked, curling up in the armchair Joe had vacated.

"They've all gone outside," Mrs. Hardy told her, "to poke their heads under the hood of every vehicle in the driveway and to take a look at Joe's new toy."

"Oh, the rusty motorcycle parts," Callie said.

"Don't let him hear you call it that. It's a 1943 Indian Scout," Nancy said lightly. "Or it will be, when he's finished with it."

"Joey's wanted one of those for ages," Mrs. Hardy said, sipping her coffee. "I'm glad he finally tracked one down."

Callie was shaking her head. "I love Joe dearly, but I'm so glad it's not my job to keep up with his projects. But I guess it's easier for you, Nan, since you understand that stuff."

"Motorcycles are not my area of expertise," Nancy said. "But Dad made sure I was familiar enough with engines to take care of maintenance and minor repairs. He told me that if I was determined to go driving all around the country on my own I should not be dependent on anyone else to fix my car for me."

"Your father is a very wise man," Mrs. Hardy said. She rose reluctantly, gathering her own and Nancy's empty coffee cups. "I suppose I'd better start getting my things together."

Nancy waited until the older woman had busied herself in the kitchen before scooting down to the corner of the couch closest to Callie's chair. She leaned forward, looking her friend in the face. "Callie, are you really okay?"

"I'm...I don't know, Nancy." Callie sighed. "I'm overwhelmed. I have the wedding to plan, I've just been disowned, and I've been living on saltines and toast for three days. I feel...oh, Nan, I'm sick and exhausted and angry and sad and it's just too much."

"You can talk to us about all of that. You don't need to put on your brave face," Nancy said softly, wedging herself into the chair to wrap Callie in a hug.

"I know," Callie said, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry. All I've done since Sunday night is cry."

"Don't you worry about that. We're all here for you," Nancy said.

Mrs. Hardy had returned to the living room. She set her tote bag on the coffee table next to her purse and sat down again on the couch. "You're the same age as Frank, aren't you?"

Callie nodded. "Yes. I'm 25."

"I was 25 when I found out I was expecting Frank," Mrs. Hardy said. "Fenton and I had been married for six years by then, and we really thought we just weren't going to have any children. And I remember just sitting there on the exam table after the doctor had given us the news, too stunned to move."

"You...you weren't happy?" Callie asked cautiously.

"Sweetie, I was terrified. We had come to terms with our life together, and I just couldn't see how would a baby fit in. Fenton was gone more than he was home back then. I was teaching elementary school, and I didn't want to give that up to stay home. Especially since in Fenton's line of work it was always possible that I'd be left to support myself one day. Thank God, that possibility never became a reality." She was a little teary-eyed at this point, but she smiled. "And then Frank was born, and oh, Callie, he was just perfect. I couldn't imagine life without him, or without Joe. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that life is infinitely adaptable. Everything seems to be upside down right now, but I promise it will all fall into place."

"I want to believe that," Callie said, reaching for another tissue. "Thank you. Both of you."

The earnest sweetness of the moment was broken by the sudden noisy return of Frank and Joe and Chet, carrying an assortment of tools. Frank came in to give Callie a kiss; Chet and Joe went to grab some beers from the refrigerator.

Mrs. Hardy stood up. "I'd better be going, boys and girls. My bedtime comes around much sooner than yours. Thank you for a very enjoyable evening."

"Thank you for a delicious dinner!" Frank said, and Joe set down his beer to engulf her in an exuberant hug.

"Yes, thanks," he echoed. "Next time we'll cook for you."

"It's a deal," Laura Hardy said, smiling.

Her boys walked her out to her car. Chet had vanished into Joe's room with what looked like a soldering gun. Nancy disregarded this as nothing out of the ordinary and slid back onto the couch, facing Callie.

"So, Cal. Out of all the things you listed earlier, there is one thing you have some control over."

"Wedding planning?" Callie said. She was looking a little less strained.

"Yup. So, what can I help you with?"

Callie hesitated. "Well," she said finally, "I need to go dress shopping all over again. By June I'm going to be as big as the chapel and there's no way my dress is going to fit."

"Oh, no," Nancy said. "You love that dress. It's perfect."

"I know," Callie groaned. "But you've seen it. There's no way I'm going to be able to squeeze myself and a passenger into that thing."

"All right," Nancy said, grabbing Joe's laptop off the side table and talking while she typed in a search. "Maternity wedding gowns."

"I looked at some yesterday. They look like nightgowns," Callie said miserably.

"Okay. What if you postpone the wedding until the fall? You should be due in..." Nancy did some quick calculations. "August, right?"

Callie looked at her wearily. "I'm still not going to be the right size for my dress. There's no way. And I'm not walking down the aisle holding a baby instead of a bouquet. Plus, we put a deposit on the reception venue, and we both already got our vacation time approved for the honeymoon, and- "

"Okay," Nancy interrupted. "Okay. June it is. And we're going to find you a dress, and you're going to be radiant."

Callie reluctantly cracked a smile. "I'm sorry. I'm being such a brat about this. It's just, I'm trying to imagine Frank's face. You know that look the groom always gets, when the bride steps into view?"

Nancy nodded. "Yes! They light up." She looked at her friend. "You're afraid Frank isn't going to look at you like that."

"I'm not going to look pretty," Callie said. "I'm going to be bloated and wearing a chiffon tent."

"Then don't wear a tent," Nancy said suddenly, clicking on a different category of wedding gown.

"What? No, Nan, I told you, I'll be huge by then."

"Everyone is going to know you're pregnant. There's no point trying to hide it. So why not wear something beautiful?"

Callie gasped. "That is stunning. But-"

"Cal. No buts. All you need is a good seamstress and a healthy dose of confidence."

They both gazed for a moment at the gown on the screen, a beautiful vintage-looking lace sheath. Then Callie sighed.

"You're right."

"When Bess gets back I'm sure she'll have more insights. But we've made some progress, right?"

"We absolutely have. Thanks, Nan."

"You're welcome. I don't want to cut this short, but you look like you're ready to call it a night."

"I'm tired," Callie agreed. She rose to go, but hesitated. "Thanks for everything. Everyone has been so supportive and I don't know what I would do without you."

*********************************************************************

Frank and Chet were still in Joe's room. The brothers and their friend were both leaning over Joe's desk, tinkering with something involving a lot of wires and dials, talking and gesturing and arguing in a friendly way about the best way to do the job. Nancy paused in the doorway and smiled.

"Hi," Frank said after a moment, glancing back at her. "Want us to get out?"

"No, no. You guys go ahead. I'm just going to grab my book and go read in the living room for a bit."

The Hardys' couch was very comfortable, and Nancy was more tired than she had realized. She read only a page or two before the temptation to rest her eyes became irresistible. When she opened them again the house was quiet and dark and someone was kneeling by the side of the couch. Nancy half-sat, her book sliding off her stomach and landing with a muffled thump on the rug.

"Joe?"

"Shh. It's me." His arms slid under her, strong and warm, and he lifted her as though she were a child. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"What time is it?"

"A little after twelve."

Nancy snuggled against his bare chest. "Did Chet just leave?"

"About 15 minutes ago." He set her down in the bed, helping her pull up the blankets.

"Thanks," she murmured, twining her arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. "Did you guys finish what you were working on?"

"We were just tinkering." He slid in beside her and lay back, pulling her close to his side. Nancy lay her head down over his heart and listened to it thump away for a few minutes. She had been terribly drowsy earlier, but now she was wide awake.

"Joe," she said finally.

"Nan?" He sounded awake, too.

"I love this. Being with you. I'm really happy."

Joe smiled in the dark. She could feel it. "I'm happy too," he said, pulling her fully on top of him so he could look into her face in the faint glow from the streetlight outside his window. And Nancy melted into him, her lips seeking his and her arms wrapping tight around his lean body and her pelvis cradling his. She could feel the heat flaring there, pulsing like his heartbeat; she pressed into him, shifting, fitting herself against him like a puzzle piece slipping into place. _There. Oh, right there._

Joe ran strong hands through her hair, along the curve of her hip and thigh, pulling her snug against him. His hand wove through her hair again, cupping the back of her skull, pulling her down for a kiss.  
"Not too tired to play?" he whispered.

Nancy bit his lower lip, knowing what it did to him. "Who's tired?" she murmured back.

"Where were we, earlier?" Joe said, reaching for her bra. Nancy twisted away.

"Not so fast, Hardy." One more soft kiss and she broke away to slide down his body, kissing his chest, nipping at his taut belly, licking her way delicately lower. Joe's delighted gasp filled the warm darkness.

"Nancy. Fuck, yes."

He looked so beautiful given over to pleasure, all his guards lowered, that she was tempted to stay where she was all night. But a growing spark of mischief within her drove her to crawl back up to kneel on the bed beside him and begin undressing with deliberate, maddening slowness.

Joe reached for her, and Nancy gently swatted his hand away. "Patience, Joseph."

"Not my strong point." She was shimmying out of her bra, slowly, one strap at a time. He reached for her again, and she swatted him a little less gently.

"That's your second warning. Do that again and I'm going to get the handcuffs," she said sternly.

"That's a shame," Joe said, "because I do not feel inclined to behave tonight." And suddenly he dove for her, wrapping her in his arms and tackling her playfully onto the bed. He was more than a match for her in both weight and strength; but after a brief wrestling match he allowed himself to be overpowered.

"You have the right to remain silent," Nancy said, leaning in to kiss him and to cuff his right hand to the bed.

"Just the one?"

"For now. We'll see how you behave."

"No promises," Joe said rakishly, and Nancy promptly used her knee to pin down his left hand.

"That's better," she said, kissing him again. "Now. Where were we?"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Family Secrets

 _Author's Note: I'm so sorry for taking so long to update...I have a small child who no longer takes naps. Thanks so much to everyone who has stuck with me despite the erratic posting schedule. Special thanks to reader Cherylann Rivers for practically writing me an essay after every chapter!, and to SparklingSoul and max2013 for their dependable encouragement. Readers like you make this writer very happy._

 _Clank. Clankclank. Clank._

"Joe, cut it out," Nancy mumbled groggily.

 _Clank. Clank._

Nancy pulled the pillow over her head. "Joseph. Whatever you're working on, take it out to the garage."

Joe pulled the pillow off her head. "Oh good, you're awake. I can't Houdini this, Nan. Where's the key?"

"The key?" That sounded important. Nancy dragged herself upright, forced her eyes open, waited as the world swam slowly into focus.

"What time is it?"

"Uh, hold on." There was a brief scuffling sound as Joe retrieved his phone from the bedside table. "Quarter to five."

Nancy groaned. "Okay."

"You can go back to sleep after you grab me the key," Joe said, rolling back toward her. Nancy squinted at him. In the streetlight's weak and watery pre-dawn glow his body looked unfamiliar, a statue rather than flesh and blood. The illusion was compounded by the peculiar way he was holding his right arm. Nancy looked again and suddenly all traces of drowsiness were gone.

"You're still handcuffed!" she gasped, leaping toward the dresser. "Joe, I'm so sorry. Did you fall asleep like that?"

Joe laughed and tugged at his wrist again, producing the clanking noise which had awakened her. "We both just passed out. I woke up a few minutes ago and tried to slip out of it without waking you. Guess I've lost my touch."

"I'm sorry," Nancy said again, too distracted to see the absurd humor in the situation. "Where's the key?"

"It should be right there."

"Should be," Nancy repeated, pushing aside a small roll of copper wire, a fuse, and a stack of quarters. Joe was a neat person in general, but he tended to accumulate an eclectic assortment of stuff. She had just pulled open a desk drawer to check there when the bedroom door opened and Frank stepped in, already fully dressed in his police uniform.

"Hey, Joe, did I leave my flashlight last-"

Frank froze in the doorway, horrified and embarrassed. For one stunned moment Nancy froze, too. Then they both sprang into action. Frank turned away, his hand going up to cover his eyes as though he could retroactively prevent himself from seeing anything; Nancy, meanwhile, abandoned what remained of her dignity in one headlong leap for the bed. She yanked the sheet up to her shoulders and breathed a fervent thanks to the universe that the room was so dim.

"Frank! What the hell!" Joe was yelling. "Knock, you boulder-brained jackass! Do I have to revert to the sock-on-the-doorknob system?"

"I am so sorry!" Frank said, his back still turned to them. "I didn't know you'd stayed over, Nancy. I'm so sorry." He reached behind himself for the door and started to pull it closed.

"Frank, wait. Do you have your handcuff keys on you?" Joe called.

"Yes," Frank said warily.

"Great. Come here and unlock me."

"Good lord. No. Unlock your own sex cuffs."

"We will, as soon as I solve The Mystery of the Missing Sex Cuff Key," Nancy told him, having recovered enough to joke about the situation.

"Just unlock me. I've been stuck here all night and I've got to pee."

Frank stepped forward, an expression of exquisite discomfort on his face, and freed his brother's wrist with his own handcuff keys. "How many times do I have to beg you to keep me in complete ignorance of your sex life?" he muttered, addressing the remark to a picture on Joe's wall rather than make eye contact with either of the bed's occupants.

"I don't think that's quite fair, when we're all going to be expected to admire the proof of yours in about nine months," Joe teased.

"That's different," Frank said, flustered.

"I walked in on you and Callie one time in high school. So let's just call it even."

"Fine." Frank still looked uncomfortable. He went over to Joe's desk and picked through the bits and pieces the guys had left out the evening before. "I just needed my flashlight. Here it is. I am so sorry, Nancy."

"It's fine, Frank. Our days can only get better from this point, right?"

Frank actually cracked a smile. "Yeah, that's true. I'm headed out. I'll see you guys later. With any luck I'll see much less of you."

The door closed. Joe tossed his handcuffs on the floor and rolled over, wrapping his arms around Nancy's waist and kissing her on the curve of her side and low on her belly.

"I thought you had to pee," Nancy said reluctantly.

"I do," he said, voice muffled against her skin. "Don't move, Drew." He pressed a kiss to her collarbone and bounded out of bed. Nancy had just enough time to sit up, swing her legs off the side of the bed, and pull on his discarded t-shirt before he was back.

"Where do you think you're going?" he said, pulling her back down into their nest of blankets.

"I need a shower before I go catch the Rodanski girls," Nancy told him half-heartedly.

"It's still really early." He slid a hand over her hip and up her side, bunching up the fabric of his t-shirt, before sliding down again to kiss her sleep-warm skin. "Stay," he said. He looked up at her, eyes dark and intense, hair hopelessly tousled, and Nancy couldn't resist. She surrendered herself into his very capable hands.

After the previous night's playfulness it was nice to keep things simple. Nancy propped herself on her elbows and let her head fall back as Joe pushed her knees apart with exactly the right degree of roughness. He settled himself between her thighs, sweet-talking her in gasps and moans, his desire feeding hers until they were both wound tight with it.

"I love you," he whispered afterward, while they still lay tangled together. His face was relaxed, almost vulnerable; his energetic body was completely still for once. Nancy turned her head and kissed the closest body part, which happened to be his shoulder.

"Even though I left you locked up all night?" she said, frustrated with herself for joking instead of being serious. But Joe didn't look hurt.

"It was worth it," he said. "Next time, we should cuff both hands."

"Ooh. Already planning next time?"

"I can't get enough of you. You know that."

"The feeling is mutual," Nancy told him. She cupped his face with her unbandaged hand. His cheek felt rough beneath her fingertips. She drew in a long breath, wishing she could inhale an extra bit of courage along with the oxygen.

"I love you, Joe." The words still felt very new in her mouth, very awkward despite their rightness. She had not truly offered her heart this way since high school, since those first heady months with Ned, and she was more than a little afraid of the magnitude of it.

As if reading her thoughts, Joe turned his face and kissed her palm. "Don't be afraid."

"It's a big word. Love."

"It's the truth. Is it the truth for you, Nancy?"

She looked into his eyes, her gaze steady and sincere, and let go of her fear. "It's the truest thing I know."

"Then we're all right." Joe pulled the blankets up around them and settled back, running a hand lightly up and down Nancy's back. Nancy closed her eyes. The young detectives slipped back into sleep, content and secure in each other's arms.

*******************************************************

"Excuse me," Nancy called, hurrying after the two blonde girls she'd spotted across the foyer. "Maggie and Jenny Rodanski?"

They paused, half-turning, a mirror image of suspicion. "Who are you?" the one on the left demanded.

"Nancy Drew," she said, pulling out her ID. "I'm a private detective. Faith may have mentioned my name to you?"

The twin on the right was nodding. "Yes. Hi. I'm Jenny."

"Maggie," the twin on the left said.

"Do you have a moment to talk in private?" Nancy asked.

The girls exchanged a glance. "Sure," Maggie said. "We're free right now."

"We can use the sewing classroom," Jenny said, leading the way to the first door down the right-hand hallway. "It's always empty this hour."

"We don't know anything about what happened to Brendan," Maggie said, setting her notebook down on an empty work table. She looked nervous.

Nancy headed for the lectern but changed her mind and settled for perching on another table. "This is all just routine," she told the girls, trying to reassure them. "Can you tell me what you were doing the night of the murder?"

The girls exchanged another look. Nancy was beginning to wish she had brought Joe along so they could question the sisters separately. _If they were going to prepare a story, they've already had time to do it,_ she realized. Whatever they were going to tell her, she would simply have to take it with a grain of salt.

"We went to our friend Jasmine's senior runway project," Jenny said.

"We were there until like 9:00. Then we went to the afterparty at her apartment."

"And what time did you leave there?"

"We didn't," Maggie said.

"Yes, you did," Jenny said. Nancy raised her eyebrows. Evidently the girls had not rehearsed their testimony after all.

Maggie looked annoyed. "I met a guy," she said huffily. "I went back to his dorm with him. But that doesn't count. I mean, it was part of the party."

"But you returned to campus that night," Nancy said evenly. "Do you remember what time that was?"

"No," Maggie said.

"It was a little after 1," Jenny volunteered.

"How do you remember stuff like that?" Maggie asked.

"Maybe because I don't start doing shots the second I get to a party," Jenny said pointedly.

"Girls," Nancy said, cutting off their incipient fight before it could begin. "Moving on. Does the name 'gargoylegrinning' mean anything to you?"

They both looked puzzled for a moment before Jenny said, hesitantly, "Isn't that the name of that band that opened for Logan Strange at the civic center the other night?"

Maggie shook her head. "No, you're thinking of Gargoyle Graveyard."

"Oh," said Jenny. "Then no. I'm sorry."

"That's still pretty similar," Nancy said thoughtfully. "Do gargoyles have a particular meaning at this school? Are they a mascot for something, or is the word a slang term for something?"

"Not that I know of," Maggie said. "And we would have heard about it. We know literally everybody here."

"Please let me know if the word comes up again. It's an odd coincidence," Nancy said.

"Faith said this all has to do with that family heirloom Bren was always looking for," Jenny said hesitantly.

"That seems to be the case," Nancy told her.

Again, the twins exchanged that quick glance. This time Maggie spoke up. "That doesn't make sense."

"Why do you say that?" Nancy asked. She kept her voice even, but inside she was lighting up with excitement.

"Because it wasn't in River Heights," Maggie said matter-of-factly. "My mom knows that for a fact. She told us about it when we were kids."

 _Then what did Brendan dig up?_ Nancy wondered. Aloud, she said, "Did she ever tell you where it went?"

"That's complicated," Maggie began.

"Okay," Jenny interjected, leaning forward eagerly. "So, like, this is a big thing in our family. Half of us will swear that whatever it was, it was still hidden somewhere on the family property. The other half can't agree on what happened to it."

Maggie picked up the narrative. "Some people say there never was an heirloom. Some people say it was found and sold years ago. And some of us say that Diarmid snuck back and stole it after the war."

"According to Brendan, Diarmid died at Pearl Harbor," Nancy said.

"That's one theory," Maggie said.

"Mom told us he faked his death," Jenny went on, clearly taken with the romance of the story. "The Army assumed he was dead because so many people were. But he just couldn't face going back after what he saw that day."

"He made up a new name, married a Hawaiian girl, and lived the rest of his life out there," Maggie concluded.

Nancy felt a bit bewildered. "Is there any concrete proof for this theory?" she asked.

Maggie shrugged. "Talk to Mom. She'll tell you."

"I'll do that," Nancy said, and copied down the girls' parents' address.

"One last question, girls. We noticed one of your art textbooks in Brendan's apartment. Do you know why he wanted to borrow it?"

"That was mine," Jenny said. "He didn't really say. He just asked if it had a chapter about early American art and then he grabbed it and promised he'd have it back in the morning." She frowned. "Can I get it back? I really do need it."

"You'll have to talk to the police about that," Nancy said apologetically.

"He wasn't...he wasn't reading it when he died, was he?"

Maggie shot a scornful look at her sister. "Jen. He's not going to haunt your art textbook."

"If anyone could do it, Bren would," Jen said, and Maggie sort of laughed.

"Yeah, you're right."

The girls were starting to look a little misty-eyed. Nancy stood up. "Thanks for your time. Please don't hesitate to call if you think of anything that could be relevant."

"We will," Maggie promised.

****************************************************************

The Rodanski home turned out to be a modern ranch-style home sitting on a modest expanse of very neatly-maintained lawn. Nancy dodged through the beginnings of yet another rain shower and rang the doorbell. The woman who answered the door was tall and blonde and looked exactly like Jenny and Maggie.

 _I'm definitely in the right place._

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, more curious than wary.

"I hope so," Nancy said, handing over her credentials. "My name is Nancy Drew. I'm working on your nephew's murder case."

"Nancy Drew," the woman repeated. "I've heard of you."

"I've been investigating cases in the area for-"

"Oh, I know! You're the lawyer's daughter," Mrs. Rodanski said, handing back Nancy's ID. "Hannah Gruen works for your family."

"You know Hannah?"

"I went to school with her," Mrs. Rodanski said. "I'm Lana Rodanski. You can call me Lana. Please come on in."

Nancy trailed after her. Lana appeared to be leading her toward the kitchen. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important," she said.

"No, nothing that can't wait," Lana said. "I work from home most days, and let me tell you, I'm just about going out of my mind here with no one else to talk to."

"That does sound-" Nancy murmured.

"And another thing. The computer system is always going down. Answer me this, how am I supposed to remotely access the files I need when the system is always down?"

"How frustra-"

"Those IT boys always tell me they're working on it. I know what they're really doing. They're playing games on their phone and laughing at the rest of us. They're all just kids, really. Like you. How long did you say you've been an investigator?"

"I've been working cases since I was 16," Nancy said rapidly. The small sense of victory she felt at managing to complete a sentence was diminished somewhat by the fact that Lana did not seem to be paying any attention. She was rummaging in a cabinet, her back to Nancy.

"Let me make you a hot drink. The weather is just too awful. It makes me glad I do get to stay home. I mean, really, who wants to be out driving in this? I remember when I used to work in New York City, I used to drive to the train station at 4 AM and then ride the train, coming and going in the dark and icy most days too. It's no way to live. Do you take cream and sugar?"

"No, thanks."

Lana pressed a mug of instant coffee into Nancy's hands. "How is Hannah these days? We sort of lost touch after graduation. I can't believe it's been so long, I really can't."

"Hannah is doing very well," Nancy said politely. "She's been like a mother to me for most of my life."

"That sounds just like her," Lana said. "I should give her a call one of these days and catch up."

"Lana," Nancy said firmly, "I need to talk to you about your family history."

"Oh." The garrulous woman seemed, finally, to give Nancy her complete attention. "Well, let's sit here at the table. What do you need to know?"

"I spoke with your daughters this morning, and they told me something very interesting about the family heirloom Brendan was looking for," Nancy said, taking a seat.

"Poor kid. He was never going to find it," Lana said, spooning a great deal of sugar into her own cup.

"That's what Jenny and Maggie told me."

"Let me tell you something about my grandfather," Lana said, waving her spoon for emphasis. "He was no good. Do you know why he left my grandmother so poor? The man couldn't hold a job. He would come home with money now and then and would never tell her where he got it. Whatever that heirloom was, he didn't come by it honestly."

"The girls told me that he came back and took it," Nancy said, taking advantage of a break in Lana's narrative. "Do you have any proof of that?"

"Proof? No," Lana said. "But don't you think the family would have found it years ago, if it were still there? Besides, he was spotted around town after the war. I figure he came back to get it because he needed the money to support his new family."

"Yes, Maggie mentioned he remarried," Nancy said.

Lana nodded. It was plain from the look on her face that she was enjoying telling this story. "Shameful," she said. "Absolutely shameful. He went off and lived his life on a beautiful island while Grandma Mary scraped a living for her two kids back here in River Heights."

"Do you know for a fact that he remarried?"

"I found a letter in my dad's files after he passed away. My daddy was Diarmid Sterling Connolly, Jr., you know. He was the only Diarmid Connolly who was ever a good man. My brother Diarmid is good for nothing, and his son Diarmid is a complete waste of oxygen. It's something in the name, I truly believe that, because his other kids turned out just fine. Except for Brendan being murdered, of course, but that was hardly his fault, the poor thing. He was such a sweet boy." Lana took a sip of her coffee. "But I was telling you about that letter. My father would never hear a word spoken against Grandpa. As far as she was concerned he was a hero who had died at Pearl Harbor. But for some reason he'd held on to this letter an Army friend had written to Grandma, all about how he'd seen Grandpa with his Hawaiian wife and baby. So anyway," Lana concluded, "that's how I know Grandpa skipped town with the heirloom."

It's not definitive proof, Nancy thought, but it's pretty damning. "Have you ever tried to contact the Hawaiian branch of your family?"

"Who knows what name he went by out there?" Lana said dismissively. "Besides, I don't want to stir the pot. Let the past be, that's what I say. Are you going so soon?"

"I'm afraid I must," Nancy said. "Thank you for your time. You've been a big help."

Lana walked her out, talking the whole way, and only released Nancy to her car when a FedEx driver pulled up. Nancy's last sight of the woman was of her talking animatedly to the poor delivery driver, whose only remark had been "Please sign here, ma'am."

"Good luck," Nancy murmured in his direction as she started her car.

Nancy drove back into River Heights slowly, pondering the new information she'd gathered that morning, and pulled into a public parking lot in the town center. The clock read half past noon, and her doctor's appointment was not for several hours. Still feeling thoughtful, she dug her phone out of her purse and sent a quick text to Joe. He was in class until 1:00, but she knew he'd appreciate the update.

 _Rodanskis had an interesting new piece of the puzzle. Can't wait to talk later. xo_

Something was bothering her- some piece of information, half-remembered and flitting around the outskirts of her mind. Nancy sat back and watched the raindrops splash against the glass of her windshield, buttoning her trench coat absently as the interior temperature of the parked car dropped.

"I wish I were sitting on that beach with Bess," she said to herself.

 _Bess! Of course!_ That was what she had been trying to remember. Triumphantly, the young detective pulled out her phone again and sent another message.

 _Bessie, what's the surname of your B &B owners?_

There was no immediate reply. Bess was probably not keeping close tabs on her cell phone right now. She knew Myra's caretakers could call the front desk of her bed and breakfast directly if there were an emergency. Nancy didn't begrudge her friend her vacation; but it was with no little impatience that she turned up the message alert volume on her phone and dropped it back into her purse. She sat for a moment, lost in thought; and then, her course of action decided, she stepped out of the car.

 _I am going to buy an umbrella today,_ Nancy decided, hopping over a large puddle. Hers had disappeared, as umbrellas invariably do; and though she was only planning to walk a few blocks, she was already getting wetter than she liked.

"Nancy, wait up!" a voice called, and a moment later its owner had fallen into step with her. "Get under my umbrella," he said, holding it out.

"Thanks, Ned." Nancy felt her heart twist, the way it always did when they met: a strange, painful-sweet flutter of remembrance and discomfort. Though they were both in new relationships, and though Ned had finally forgiven her, they had not yet found ease with one another as friends. Nancy was content to let time dull old memories and shape their new course, and so, it seemed, was Ned; but in the meantime, these incidental meetings were always awkward.

Under the umbrella, Ned was looking at her with those brown eyes she knew so well. His face wore a mixture of amusement and concern. "You were obviously never a Boy Scout," he said, and Nancy smiled.

"Never prepared, that's me," she agreed.

"Are you headed in to see your dad?"

"Yes. I'm going to kidnap him for a father-daughter lunch."

"I'm sure he'll enjoy that," Ned said politely.

There was a short pause. Nancy picked up her pace ever-so-slightly. The law firm where Ned and her father worked was only a short walk away. Maybe she could get there before the small talk became too stilted.

"So," Ned said, breaking the silence. "How have you been? How's work? Dangerous, by the looks of things." He evidently hadn't overlooked her bandaged hand. Nancy held it up.

"I'm getting the stitches out today," she said, shrugging. "It wasn't anything big. Work's been great. How about you? How's Emily?"

"Emily got promoted to head librarian at the Mapleton branch," Ned said, looking pleased that Nancy had asked.

"That's wonderful. Tell her I said congratulations."

Another short pause. "I, um, I see Joe at the gym a lot," Ned said finally. He stopped at the door of the law firm to shake the water off his umbrella and fold it up before following Nancy into the lobby. "You two seem to be doing well. I'm glad he decided to pursue a college degree."

Nancy hesitated. Had Ned brought that up on purpose? Was he making a subtle comparison between his and Emily's secure, adult professions and the more adventurous life Nancy and Joe were leading? Surely not. Ned could be spiteful, given enough provocation, but he had never been snobbish.

"Yes," she said finally. "I'm proud of him."

Ned pulled the door open and motioned for her to go ahead while he shook the water from his umbrella and closed it. "It's nice to know you two are out there, keeping the world safe for the rest of us," he said, following her into the lobby.

"Yeah, we're practically superheroes," Nancy said, smiling.

"You need to work on your costume design," Ned joked.

There was another pause. It didn't feel quite so awkward this time. Then Ned reached out and squeezed Nancy's un-injured left hand. "I'll let you get on with your kidnaping. It was nice to see you, Nan."

"Likewise," she told him, really meaning it. "And thanks again for sharing your umbrella."

***************************************************************

As it turned out, there was no need to kidnap anyone. Carson Drew had the largest pizza box Nancy had ever seen sitting open on his desk.

"Feeling a bit peckish today, Dad?" Nancy teased, leaning across the immense pizza to kiss the handsome lawyer's cheek.

"I won a raffle at Sal's Pizzeria!" Carson explained, laughing. "I'd forgotten all about entering my name. You can imagine how surprised I was when Sal himself walked in and put this monstrosity on my desk. I've been giving slices away all day."

"Well, congratulations," Nancy told him. "I'll take some of it off your hands."

"Please, help yourself," he said, gesturing toward the box. "What brings you down here today?"

Nancy grinned. "I was planning to take you out for lunch!"

Carson pushed away the file he had been working on. "Sal saved us a walk in the rain, then. Consider me out to lunch."

"You're sure you're not busy?"

"I always have time for my little girl," Carson said warmly, handing Nancy a napkin. "How is your case going, sweetheart?"

"It's developing nicely," Nancy said. "I interviewed some people today and got some interesting new information. I doubt it's anything that will crack the case, but it's a very colorful piece of the puzzle."

"Well done," Carson said. "And where is your sidekick today?"

Nancy laughed. "Dad, he's not my sidekick. He's out doing separate interviews." Something in her father's expression made her set down her half-eaten slice of pizza and make eye contact.

"Is there something bothering you?" she asked gently.

"Yes," her father said, with his usual forthrightness. "But I'm not sure how to discuss it without offending you."

"I promise I'll hear you out."

Carson sighed. "Allow me to preface this by telling you that I really like Joe and I have absolutely no problem with the way he treats you. He's rough around the edges, but he is a good man."

Nancy nodded. "He is."

"But I worry, sometimes." The lawyer had been fiddling with his wedding ring for some time, and now he drew it off and set it on the desk between them. He touched it gently with one finger. "What your mother and I had- Nan, those were the best years of my life. I love my career. I've loved watching you grow into a young woman. But those first years of marriage, and your birth, they were golden." He looked up again, meeting his daughter's eyes. "I don't want you to miss out on that while you're running all over the world with Joe."

"Are you saying you think he's wrong for me? Or that you think I should ask him to settle down?"

"I don't think I'm saying either of those things," Carson said carefully, toying with the ring. "What I'm asking is, are you happy with your life? I don't feel that I ask you that enough."

Nancy reached out and took her father's hand, feeling the hard shape of the ring between their fingers. "I am happy, Dad. I feel..." she trailed off for a moment, trying to frame her thoughts. "I feel complete," she said, finally. "I love my work. I love Joe. I think we are doing important, useful work together." He still looked tense, so she added, "You know me, Dad. If I were dissatisfied with my life, would I just sit back and allow things to go on the way they were?"

"No," Carson admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you for worrying about me," Nancy told him.

"Every parent wants to see his child settled and happy. I forget sometimes that you have never quite fit the mold."

"I am settled and happy, in my own way. And maybe someday I'll embrace a little domesticity," Nancy said, laughing. She reached for her pizza again. "What brought on this line of thought?"

Carson was still holding his ring in his palm. "Camille and I have been talking about marriage," he said evenly. "And I got to thinking, I'd like to pass this ring down to you. I know you already have your mother's, and maybe you won't ever use this one, but I like to think of the set staying together."

Nancy all but dropped her pizza. "Dad! Really? When are you going to ask her?"

"Fairly soon." Carson looked thoughtful. "We're taking a trip to New York City to catch some shows this weekend. I've been contemplating asking her then."

"This weekend? As in, a few days from now?" Nancy demanded. "Do you have a ring? May I see it? Dad, this is really exciting! Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"We've been ships in the night lately," Carson said.

"We have phones," Nancy said, shaking her head at him.

"To be honest, I was a little worried about how you would take the news."

Nancy looked at him. "Mom's been gone a long time. I know she would want you to be happy. And so do I. Camille is a great match for you."

Carson relaxed visibly. "It's good to hear that," he said. He set his ring down with an air of finality and pushed it across the surface of the desk, toward Nancy. "I want you to have this, sweetie."

"Dad. I- I don't know what to say." Nancy picked it up. The simple, worn gold band was still warm from her father's touch. She folded it into her palm and went around the desk to give him a hug. "Thank you."

There were traces of tears on both the Drews' faces when they pulled apart, but there were smiles there, too.

"Now, eat up," Carson said. "I want this pizza out of my office!"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Dinner and Deductions

The Moonlight Diner was all but deserted. Nancy paused inside the door, automatically assessing the interior. _Three exits. No apparent danger. Two waitresses. Three men eating separately at the counter, blue-collar workers on their way home. One large family celebrating a birthday. Teenagers, a whole gaggle of them, wedged into one booth, talking and laughing and texting. And Joe._

"Over here," Joe called, waving from his corner booth. Nancy made her way carefully through the diner, holding her dripping, brand new umbrella close to her body to avoid banging it into any furniture.

"Damn," Joe said, drawing the word out in astonished amusement. "Did you steal that thing from somebody's patio?"

"It's a perfectly normal golf umbrella, thank you very much," Nancy said, sliding into her side of the booth. She wedged the oversized umbrella between the table and the wall, glad to be rid of the thing for a while, and took a grateful sip of the Coke that was already waiting for her.

"You could keep the whole golf cart dry under that thing."

"Joseph, if you continue to mock my umbrella I won't share it with you when we walk back outside. And then you'll be sorry."

"Soggy, yes. Sorry, not so much." Joe flashed her a teasing grin and leaned across the table to give her a kiss. "Hi," he said.

"Hi, yourself. How was your day?"

"Productive," Joe said, reaching for her right hand. "But first things first. Let's see the damage."

"It's ugly," Nancy warned, allowing him to turn the hand over anyway. "Possibly even prize-winningly ugly."

Joe gave an appreciative whistle. "Yeah, that's not pretty." He examined it with interest, gently wiggling her fingers and stroking one of his own fingertips over the scar tissue on Nancy's palm. "Does it hurt?"

"Not really. It just feels tight."

He let her have her hand back. "I think I have some vitamin E capsules left from when I was treating this," he said, gesturing to his bullet-scarred shoulder. "Remind me to dig them up for you."

"Thanks."

"I see your better half has arrived," the waitress said, breezing over to them. "Hi, my name's Nova and it's my pleasure to serve you tonight. As you can see, the joint's not exactly jumpin', so feel free to indulge yourself in any and all high-maintenence behavior your hearts desire." She winked at them and turned to a fresh page in her order pad. She clicked her pen open and poised it over the page. "Can I start you with an app- hold on a sec. I know you. You're Joe Hardy."

Joe blinked. "Nova Bates! Hi! I'm sorry I didn't place you sooner."

"No worries. I sort of took your drink order on the wing," Nova said.

"Nan, Nova is an old classmate," Joe explained. "Nova, this is my girlfriend, Nancy Drew."

"Nice to meet you, Nancy," Nova said. She looked back to Joe. "How is Frank doing? Do y'all still have that brother-detectives gig goin'?"

Joe shook his head. "Frank's a cop now."

"Oh, man, that sucks. You guys were so good together!"

"It worked out fine. I upgraded to Nancy," Joe joked. "She's smarter than me and Frank put together, and a hell of a lot easier on the eyes."

Nova looked back at Nancy, appraising her in a teasing way, and winked again. "Yeah, I think you got a good deal. So listen, I'd love to stay here and talk, but my manager's starting to look pissed. I was about to give you the appetizer spiel, right?"

"I think we already know what we'd like," Nancy said, smiling.

"I'll have a double-chocolate milkshake with Oreo crumbles, sprinkles, hot fudge, and a splash of coffee. With whipped cream and two cherries, please," Joe said. Nova grinned as she jotted it down.

"Okay, that's one Triple Death by Chocolate shake for the overgrown kid here. Nancy?"

"I'd like a mocha caramel shake, please, and a salad."

"Oh, right," Joe said. "I'd like a hamburger, please. Medium rare. And do you want to split some fries?"

"You should," Nova interjected. "We make the best sweet potato fries I've ever tasted."

"Sounds good to me," Nancy said, handing her un-read menu to Nova.

"All right, guys. I'll be back!" Nova intoned, doing a pretty convincing Terminator impression possible for a petite, curly-haired woman. She turned to go.

Nancy looked at Joe, tilting her head slightly. _Ask her about Diarmid._

"Nova, wait," Joe said hastily. "Speaking of detective work, we're actually on a case right now. When you have a minute we'd love to ask you some questions about Monday night."

"I get to be interrogated? Awesome!" Nova said. "I'll definitely be back!"

"So," Nancy said, when they were alone again. "Tell me about your interview with Keith."

Joe took a sip of his water. "I was hoping to hear what the Rodanski twins told you that got you so excited."

"Did you learn nothing from Keith?"

He grinned wickedly. "I wouldn't say that."

"Oh, this is torture. Maybe we should do all our investigating jointly from now on." Nancy sighed. "Okay. So, basically, the girls and their mother all told me that Diarmid Connolly had a second family in Hawaii."

"Diarmid the Douche?"

"No, the douche's great-grandfather."

"The one who died at Pearl Harbor?" Joe looked confused for a moment before it dawned on him. "Oh! The dude faked his death, deserted, and shacked up with an island girl."

"Bingo. So now I'm wondering, A, is that true? And B, if so, what bearing does it have on our case?"

"It could be irrelevant," Joe said thoughtfully. "But that's not the way things usually go. I can see a few possible motives there."

Nancy nodded. "Here's another bit of trivia: Bess told me her bed and breakfast owners claim River Heights roots. Could it be possible that they are descended from Diarmid Connolly? Their last name is Cranston, by the way. I checked with Bess earlier."

"What are the odds of another family coming from here? But Bess is going to be pissed if our case gets tangled up with her vacation."

"I know." Nancy leaned forward. "Your turn. What did Keith have to say?"

"Our boy Keith cracked like an egg," Joe said with satisfaction. "He showed me the forum he and Brendan were active on. He says they've been talking about the heirloom forever, trying to narrow down what it could be and what its approximate value might have been, and he made a big post about how Brendan had found the thing."

"So that's why he looked guilty," Nancy said.

"Yup. Basically, he hung up a giant 'Come Rob Us' sign. And now we have to widen our suspect pool to every damn user on that site." Joe was looking less satisfied now.

"Did he know what Brendan found?"

"He was away that weekend, remember? Brendan texted him that it was a set of paintings in an ammo can. But Keith never saw them."

"Not even a photo?"

"Nope. No details, no artists' name. Nothing."

Nancy felt deflated. "Well. That's not useful. Did he know gargoylegrinning?"

"Says he doesn't know anyone's real name, but that username claims to be a professor at a university in Colorado."

"If that's the truth, that amount of distance is a hell of an alibi." Nancy rested her chin in her hands, feeling defeated for the moment. "I was really hoping we'd find out more today."

"Hey, we've got plenty of avenues open," Joe said. They both sat back in silence for a few moments.

"I wonder why the food is taking so long when there's barely anyone here," Joe said.

Nancy checked her watch. "It hasn't been horribly long. You're just impatient for that milkshake." She took another sip of her Coke, letting the caffeine and sugar bolster her flagging energy.

Joe was getting antsy. "Anything else interesting happen today?" he asked, toying with the little dish of sugar packets on the table. "Because I've got nothing. I went to class, did not learn anything new, and then hit the gym."

"Oh, I had an eventful day. I had lunch with Dad, ran into Ned...oh, and I got propositioned while buying my umbrella," Nancy said, shrugging self-deprecatingly.

Joe raised an eyebrow. "Should I worry? Where did you get that behemoth, anyway?"

"Roger's," Nancy mumbled, knowing how he was going to react to that. Roger's Souvenirs and Grocery was a complete dive, avoided by most locals. The place stayed in business by overcharging tourists for their camping supplies and probably, Nancy believed, by carrying on some kind of illegal activity on the side.

"Why the hell did you stop there?"

"It wasn't my first choice. But I'd promised myself I'd buy an umbrella, and then I forgot until after I'd driven most of the way here. So I stopped in, and I checked for Hannah's cookies while I was in there. No luck, by the way. They have two full racks of porn magazines and only one small shelf of baked goods. That place is skeevy."

Joe was looking at her as though she were an exceptionally stupid child. "Nan, seriously. They're notorious for that. Where do you think Tony and I got our first girlie magazines in middle school?"

Nancy's eyes widened, as much in amusement as in surprise. "Seriously? How did I not know this about you?"

"Stay tuned for the shocking truth about Joe Hardy's adolescent indiscretions," Joe intoned, but he had the good grace to blush a little.

"Indiscretions?" Nova echoed, reaching in to place their food on the table. "Don't mind me. Y'all carry on with your conversation."

"You went to school with him," Nancy said. "You must know all about his bad behavior."

"No swapping stories in front of me!" Joe protested.

"We'll talk sometime, Nancy," Nova joked. "Can I bring you anything else?"

"No, thank you. Everything looks delicious," Nancy told her. She waited for the girl to get out of earshot, then leaned in. This was too good to let go. "You and Tony were the bad ones? Why am I not surprised?"

"Chet's always been as straight-arrow as they come, and Frank has too much personal dignity for stuff like that. Phil and Biff had some, but they wouldn't admit it. Tony and I decided one afternoon that we'd just swagger in there like we had every right to and find out what the big deal was." Joe laughed a little.

"And did you find out what the big deal was?"

"You tell me, Drew."

Heat smoldered between them. Nancy looked at him through lowered lashes, her lips curving into her most feline smile. "I think I like your curiosity."

Joe grinned. "And I think you never finished telling me what happened."

What had happened was that the sullen young man stocking shelves at a glacier's pace had stopped work altogether to look her up and down, slowly and brazenly. He had taken a step closer, hitched his thumbs into his belt loops, and said "You wanna go for a ride, baby? And I don't mean in my car." Nancy had ignored this. Instead of backing off, the guy had come even closer, grabbed the sleeve of her coat, and said "Too good for me? You think I ain't worth your time?" At which point Nancy had very firmly twisted out of his grasp, paid for her umbrella, and got out of there.

Joe listened to this narrative, scowling. "Bastard," he said at the end of it. "You should have showed him a few of the tricks George taught you."

"I didn't want it to escalate," Nancy said, shrugging.

"I guess I sort of had a confrontation of my own," Joe told her. He took a long sip of his shake, his eyes closing in pleasure. "Mm. Nan, try this."

"I thought only I could put that look on your face," Nancy teased; but she leaned forward and caught his straw in her mouth anyway. Joe watched her face as she took a sip.

"Good, right?"

"So good," she said fervently, pushing the glass gently back toward him. "What kind of confrontation, Joe?"

"Oh, right. I stopped by to drop off the lid to Mom's casserole dish and Aunt Gertrude gave me quite the lecture."

"About returning bakeware?"

"No, about 'sowing my wild oats with that Drew girl.' "

"Oh." Nancy took a bite of her salad and chewed slowly, processing this. "Wild oats, eh?"

"Wild oats," Joe repeated, shrugging. "I didn't know anyone actually still used that phrase."

"My dad had a similar talk with me at lunch."

"He told you to quit screwing around with me?"

"Sort of, but in more polite terms," Nancy said. "He didn't tell me to break up with you. He just wanted to know if I was okay with not being settled down already." Nancy picked up a fry and took a bite. "Dad is getting re-married."

Joe looked at her with his straw in his mouth. He released it, licking his lips. "He proposed to Camille?"

"He's going to. Maybe this weekend."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm not a little kid, Joe. I understand. It's been years since Mom died."

Joe reached across the table to touch her hand. "Does your inner 8-year-old understand, though? I mean, we're all still a little kid somewhere in there."

Nancy sighed. "Okay, yeah, it does feel a little unsettling. It's...it feels like the end of an era. Like now I am truly not a kid anymore. It's a huge change. But I like Camille, and I really am happy for them."

"Do you think Hannah will stop working for your dad?"

Now Nancy looked horrified. "Joe, no! Don't even say that. Hannah is part of the family." She shook her head firmly, refusing to even consider the idea of Hannah leaving.

"Dad gave me his wedding ring," she said, changing the subject. "To go with my mom's set."

Oddly, Joe laughed.

"Why is that funny?"

"It's not," Joe said, sobering. "I'm not laughing at your dad. I'm laughing because Mom pulled me aside after dinner the other night and gave me a ring, too. We're going to end up with more rings than fingers to wear them on at this rate."

"Are you starting to feel pressured? I'm starting to feel pressured," Nancy joked. Joe didn't look as amused.

"Nan, I can't stand avoidable drama. I'm going to be completely up-front with you, on the understanding that you're not going to take it the wrong way. I'm not ready to get married." He looked at her. "Your turn."

Nancy didn't hesitate. "Me neither. I mean, we jumped into this relationship really fast, and I think it's going well, but that doesn't mean we need to keep barging forward."

Joe let out a big sigh. "Do you know how much I love you?"

"Enough not to propose!" Nancy said, laughing, and Joe pulled her into a happy bear hug across the table.

Nova slid into the booth next to Nancy as they were finishing up their meal.

"Ready to be interrogated?" Nancy asked lightly.

"Wait, wait, let me get into character." Nova was trying not to laugh. She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling, clearing her face; then she had a fit of giggles, took a deep breath, tried again, and came back straight-faced and talking like a Dick Tracy villain.

"Okay, coppers, do yer worst. I ain't no canary. I ain't gonna sing," she growled.

"Look here, Bates. You're going to cooperate, see?" Joe drawled at her, puffing an imaginary cigarette. "The District Attorney might just see a way to reduce your sentence if you help us catch our crook."

"Gee," Nova scoffed. "Thanks, bud. Six months less scrubbin' toilets at this joint? You're too kind." She broke out into giggles again. "Okay, guys, what do you need to know?"

"Tell me if these people sound familiar," Nancy said, describing Diarmid and Allie.

"Oh, yeah. They're regulars. We call them Beauty and the Beast." Nova, interested now, had completely dropped the acting. "What'd they do?"

"I'm afraid we can't discuss that. Were they here Monday night?"

"Am I their alibi? That's a lot of power!" Nova spoke lightly, but she took a few minutes to think before she spoke again. "I was working that shift, but they weren't here. And I'd remember, because they're lousy tippers and Beauty always complains about the Elvis music. Plus, the Beast? He used to come in alone or with guy friends, and he always tried to grope all the waitresses. We used to flip coins to see who had to wait his table. But since he got together with Beauty he hasn't even glanced at me. He is completely infatuated with her."

"I'd say that feeling is not mutual," Joe muttered, and Nancy rolled her eyes. Nova looked interested.

"Why's that?"

"She threw herself at Joe. Practically offered herself up on a silver platter," Nancy said. "And her boyfriend didn't seem to notice at all."

"He's not the brightest bulb in the chandelier," Nova said. "Is that all you needed to know?"

"That's it. You've been really helpful."

"Well. I was hoping for something a little more spectacular. But that was pretty cool." Nova slid out of the booth. "Nice meeting you, Nancy, and good to see you again, Joe. Stop in again sometime and tell me how the case went!"

"Will do," Joe promised.

Their meal was just about done. Nancy finished up her shake and dug in her purse for cash for Nova's tip.

"I've got this," Joe said, tossing a bill down. Nancy added hers on top.

"I think she earned it," she said. "Whose turn is it to get the bill? I think it's mine."

They settled up and headed out, hand-in-hand. Joe gallantly took Nancy's unwieldy umbrella and escorted her out into the parking lot.

"Are you coming over tonight?" he asked. "We can go over the case again."

Nancy hesitated. "I don't want to wear out my welcome."

"You're not a guest, Nan. You belong. Plus, we really could use a brainstorming session."

"I'll come over, then. But it's still pretty early. I think we should make a couple stops first."

"You want to talk to The Douche," Joe guessed immediately.

"Sorry...yeah. And I need to update Faith."

"Fine. But I'm stopping home first to put on my entire skiing outfit. I'm not in the mood to be ogled."

"That's a shame," Nancy said, running her eyes up his body. "I really enjoy ogling you."

"This body is an ogle-free zone," Joe said, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around her. He grinned. "You can touch, but don't look."

Nancy slid her hands into the back pockets of his jeans and tipped her head up to look at his face. "Here's an idea. Why don't you update Faith, and I'll visit Diarmid?"

He took advantage of her angled face to give her a kiss. "You'd do that for me?"

"Just for you."

"I accept." He kissed her again, lightly. "See you at home, then. Drive safe."

***********************************************************

Diarmid opened his apartment door when Nancy knocked and just stood there, staring blankly at her. He had a bowl of noodles in one hand and was wearing a t-shirt with the slogan "Mile High Club Member."

"I'm Nancy Drew," Nancy said, feeling uncomfortable already. "The private investigator? May I ask you a few questions?"

Diarmid scratched his chest. "Babe, that detective is here!" he bellowed over his shoulder.

"Let him in!" Allie yelled back. Nancy could hear gunshots and yelling coming from the tv.

"It's the chick!" Diarmid told her, but he stepped back and let Nancy in anyway. She followed him into a dingy-looking living room, where he parked himself on the couch next to Allie and resumed eating his noodles and watching his show. Allie glanced over.

"Oh. It's just you," she said, losing interest. Her head swiveled back toward the tv set as well.

Nancy cleared her throat. "Would you mind turning that off for a minute? I just have a few questions."

"Yeah, I would mind," Diarmid said, turning up the volume a few clicks.

"We checked out your story, and the staff at the Moonlight don't remember you being there Monday night," Nancy said loudly. "What are you trying to cover up?"

Allie looked at her, her face a study in disdain. "So we forgot what night we went there. Not everything has some deeper meaning."

"Can you tell me where you really were?"

Allie thought for a moment. "I don't know."

Nancy sighed, then decided to try a new line of questioning. "Aholoka is a Hawaiian name, isn't it?"

"For your information, I was born in Delaware. And you can't ask stuff like that. Is this racial profiling?" Allie's voice was becoming shriller by the second. "Baby, tell this racist bitch to get out of here!"

Diarmid set his bowl down on the floor and stood up, slowly and menacingly. "Get out, bitch," he said.

Nancy left.

*********************************************************

Despite the three vehicles already parked in the driveway, the Hardys' apartment was dark. Nancy parked her roadster next to Joe's truck and paused, looking at the dark windows and contemplating her next move. Had they all gone to sleep? Was there a more sinister explanation? Her phone chimed, suddenly, and she dug it out of her bag to take a look.

It was a text from Joe. _Heads up, F & C are "watching a movie" in the living room._

Nancy laughed, her fears dissipating immediately. Joe must be holed up in his bedroom, then. She began heading for the front door but paused, a new idea taking shape...

****************************************

"Seriously, Nan? You'd rather climb in my bedroom window than interrupt a very juvenile makeout session?"

Nancy wiped her grimy hands with a tissue, shrugged off her coat, and started to shimmy out of her dirty jeans. Getting to Joe's window had involved climbing a tree and a good bit of clambering along a ledge. She was not only wet, but covered in flecks of tree bark and dirt. "I wanted to see if I could do it. And Frank and Callie deserve an uninterrupted evening to themselves."

"Well, you could have marched through with a brass band," Joe told her. "They didn't even look up when I came in, and I was not quiet." He was sitting on his bed, guitar in his hands. He put it aside and watched her pull on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms.

Nancy raised an eyebrow. "Joe? You look upset."

"I owe you an apology."

"What terrible crime did you commit in the last two hours?"

He didn't smile. "I almost got broadsided on my way home. Some idiot ran a red light."

Nancy gasped. "That's scary, but it's nothing you need to apologize for."

"No, you don't get it. I wasn't doing anything dangerous. I was just driving home from dinner with my girlfriend, and I almost died. And it hit me again how stupid I was to worry about you doing your job. Anything can happen to anybody at any time. And I'm sorry."

Nancy crawled onto the bed and wrapped her arms around him, feeling more shaken than she wanted to let on by the near-miss and by his unwonted solemnity. So she just tucked her head beneath his chin and held on tight to mask the trembling in her body. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Me, too." He squeezed her tight for a long moment before pulling away. The light in his eyes was back.

"Ready to get to work?"

"Absolutely," Nancy said, sitting up.

"I liberated a few things from the kitchen in case they stay out there all night." Joe pointed toward his desk, which was serving as a temporary snack table. He had acquired a bag of chips, some oranges, Nancy's stash of Swedish Fish, and two bottles: one of Coke, and one of whiskey.

"Well done, Private," Nancy said, sliding out of bed to grab the chips. "I thought you said they didn't notice when you came in, though? So it's not like we're really stuck in here."

"That was then," Joe said darkly. "Who knows what they're doing out there now? At this point it's less about interrupting them and more about protecting ourselves from seeing things we don't want to see."

"Got it," Nancy said, laughing. "I think it's sweet, though. They needed an evening like this."

"Oh, sure, it's really sweet that they're doing filthy things to each other on the couch we all sit on," Joe grumbled.

"We've done some pretty filthy things on that couch," Nancy pointed out.

Joe grinned. "Yeah, I guess." His expression turned wicked. "They're moving out soon. We'll be able to do filthy things wherever we want, whenever we want."

Nancy tossed a chip at him. "What can we possibly do that we don't do already? All that's going to change is the likelihood of getting walked in on."

"Oh, come on, Nan. Where's your imagination?"

"I'll put it to work," Nancy promised, getting up to pour them each a drink. Joe scooted back up against the headboard and pulled his guitar into his lap. He liked to play while he was thinking, sometimes; not really playing songs, but strumming chords and plucking brief bits of tunes as a sort of background to his mental processes. It didn't bother Nancy. She had her own process; she liked to doodle and make notes while she thought. So she settled into his bedroom chair with a notepad and a pen, and he reclined with his guitar, and they began tossing ideas back and forth.

"How is Faith doing?" Nancy asked, taking a sip of her Jack and Coke.

"She's all right. She's a strong girl. How did things go with Diarmid?"

Nancy frowned. "I can't tell if they're hiding something, or just plain stupid." She summed up her visit in a few brief sentences.

"I should've gone with you," Joe said. "I'm sorry."

"There's something else. This has been bugging me since Faith took us to see Brendan's apartment," Nancy said. "I feel like there was something out of place there, and I can't put my finger on exactly what it was."

"We can go take another look," Joe said, adjusting a tuning peg.

"That might be a good idea." There was silence for a few minutes; both Nancy and Joe were lost in their own thoughts.

"It's not a great suspect list," Nancy said finally, looking over her notes. "Faith is probably clear. I'd say Jenny is probably clear too. Maggie...Maggie seemed sharper, and she did return to campus that night, so we'll call her a really tentative maybe?"

Joe nodded. "Diarmid and Allie go in that category too."

"You think so?"

"Something's not right about them."

"Okay." Nancy made a few annotations to her page. "Then there's Keith."

"Keith doesn't have the guts," Joe said. "He might have been in on a theft, but not a murder."

"But from the looks of things, the murder was not premeditated," Nancy pointed out.

"True."

Nancy sighed. "This whole Hawaii story is throwing me off. Would a Hawaiian relative come all the way out here on the off-chance that Brendan had found the heirloom, steal it, and kill him?"

"They might if it were really valuable."

"How would they know, though?"

Joe pondered. "They'd have to be a forum member."

"So we're back to that. How are we supposed to investigate every singe username on that site? There are thousands!"

Joe set down his guitar and reached for his laptop. "We can start by browsing through, looking for patterns in posts and who has the most to say in the relevant topics." He patted the bed next to him. "Come on up. And bring me an orange, please?"

"Catch," Nancy said, tossing him one. She gathered up her drink and her notebook and joined him on the bed to alternately steal bites of his orange and help browse the forum. She had been right: it was going to take a lot of work to sift through all the activity there.

Joe pushed the computer off his lap, finally, and rolled his shoulders to ease their stiffness. "Nan. It's 2 AM."

"Are you serious?" Nancy sat up, too, combing her hair back from her face.

"Ready to call it a night?"

"I guess so."

Joe cupped her face with his hand, rough and tender and compassionate all at once. "We got some good work done tonight. You can rest."

"I want to do more," Nancy told him.

"I know. I get it." He looked around for a moment, taking in their empty glasses on his nightstand, the orange peels and the chip bag, the guitar and the laptop and Nancy's notebook and pen; and finally he scooped it all up and deposited the whole mess on the desk.

"I'll take care of it in the morning."

Nancy groaned. "We were supposed to go running with Frank in the morning."

"Fuck." He flopped back down next to her, reaching for his phone. "I'll set an alarm. Why does he always want to go out so early on his day off?"

Nancy didn't reply. She was already asleep. Joe tugged the blankets up over them both and curled around her, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck before drifting off himself.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Adrenaline

 _At least it isn't raining._

That was the only optimistic thought Nancy could muster. She gulped in another lungful of crisp November air and forced herself to keep moving, legs pumping steadily, eyes locked on the two sets of running shoes pounding away just a few yards ahead of her.

"One more mile, guys!" Frank yelled out happily, picking up speed as he rounded the corner onto the next street. Joe, not going to be outdone even if it killed him, stuck by his brother's side like an extra shadow.

"Doing all right, Nan?" Frank asked, letting himself drop back to her position for a moment. "I know you just got your stitches out."

"From my hand, not my feet," Nancy panted. "I'm fine."

"Okay," Frank said, and accelerated back to the front with Joe. Nancy let them go. Unlike Joe, she felt no compulsion to keep pace with Frank. All she cared about was keeping her feet moving and her breathing even. It had been awhile since she had pushed herself like this. It felt...well, it felt terrible, but it felt good, too.

All things come to an end, even the last mile of a tough run. Before long Nancy was sinking gratefully into the armchair in the Hardys' living room.

"Good run?" Callie asked brightly. She dropped a slice of bread into the toaster and turned to kiss Frank as he passed through the kitchen.

"Great run," he said, brushing her hair back from her face. "But I think if it had been any longer I'd have been carrying these two back home. I'm going to go grab a shower." And he disappeared into his bedroom, whistling cheerfully.

"I always think I'm in good shape until I work out with him," Joe said, dropping wearily into a seat at the table.

"You guys should come for a run with me, next time," Callie told him. "I probably won't run you into the ground."

Joe waved a hand at her without lifting his head off the table. "Hey. I can keep up with Frank. And should you be doing that?"

"What, having toast?"

"No, running."

"Oh, good grief." Callie dropped her toast on her plate. "I'm not sick, Joe. I mean, I might be after I eat this. But in general, it's fine for me to continue my normal activities."

"But you're...you're incubating. Won't you jostle the-"

Whatever Joe was trying to say was drowned out in laughter from Callie and Nancy. Nancy sat up and looked at him.

"You're adorable, but you don't know much about pregnancy."

"I've never been pregnant!" Joe protested. He picked up his head and stood up, stretching. "Okay, I'm alive again. Does anybody want some eggs?"

Nancy stood up too. "Yes, please."

"Does anyone who has not been making fun of me in the past five minutes want some eggs?" Joe said.

"Put on your big boy underpants and make your girlfriend some eggs," Callie teased, taking her toast to the table.

"Ooh, you have jam on it today. Feeling better?" Nancy asked. She had shed her hat and jacket and was headed to the refrigerator for the carton of strawberries she had bought.

"For the moment," Callie said.

"Excuse me," Joe said, bumping Nancy lightly with his hip and reaching past her for the eggs. Nancy bumped him back.

"I was here first, buddy."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you down there."

"Wait your turn!"

"Make me!"

Frank walked back in, his hair damp and curly from the shower. "Both of you guys, get out of the fridge," he said.

"He started it," Nancy said, escaping with her strawberries to the kitchen island. Joe stuck his tongue out at her behind Frank's back.

"Would you care for some eggs, Francis?" he asked in an exaggeratedly courteous tone.

"No, thanks, Joseph." Frank had extracted the blender from a cabinet and was getting out the ingredients for his usual morning smoothie. He set everything down on the counter and then went over to the table to give Callie another kiss.

"You look beautiful this morning," he told her.

"Thanks," she said, smiling up at him.

"That's enough of that," Joe warned, pointing his spatula at them. "I don't want you killing my appetite."

"Like that's even possible," Frank scoffed, returning to his smoothie assembly.

"What do you mean by that?" Joe asked.

"You're getting soft, little brother."

"I kept pace with you the entire time," Joe retorted.

"Be nice, Frank. The poor guy has homework to do on top of working crazy hours," Callie said staunchly. "I'd let exercise slip a little too."

"Seriously! I'm not letting anything slip!" Joe yelled over the whir of the blender.

"I am," Nancy confessed. "I'm thinking of signing up for one of George's classes to get myself back in shape after we wrap up this case. That run was way harder than it should have been."

"Are you getting close to solving it?" Callie asked, reaching for her glass of juice.

"Well, no," Nancy said ruefully.

"It's kind of a frustrating case," Joe added. "No action. We spent most of last night combing through the roommate's forum posts. Which was exactly as thrilling as it sounds."

"Did you turn up anything useful?" Callie asked sensibly.

"Maybe," Nancy said thoughtfully. "We certainly gained some insight into his personality and his relationship with Brendan."

"Either he's a really innocent, naive kid, or he was playing dumb to set Brendan up for something," Joe said. "He talked a lot, to a lot of different people. He asked for price estimates. He has his profile set to public, with his town and name and everything right there. And he gave away a ton of information about Brendan."

"Is there any one user he interacts with more than the others?" Frank asked, rinsing his smoothie glass.

"We made a list of his top five," Nancy told him. "Callie, we did find out that the treasure Brendan found was a set of paintings inside an ammo box."

Callie looked interested. "Miniatures?"

"We have no idea. They were stolen before Brendan showed them to anyone."

"Oh, that's too bad. He didn't tell anyone what the paintings depicted?"

"Nothing," Joe said, setting a plate of eggs in front of Nancy and joining the girls at the table. "Are miniatures usually valuable?"

"Well, it depends," Callie said thoughtfully.

"On the artist?" Nancy guessed.

"The artist, and the subject, and the time period," Callie said, nodding.

"We don't even know that they're miniatures," Joe told her.

"Whatever they are, we do know that the first Diarmid Connolly considered them valuable enough to support his wife and children in the event of his death," Nancy said.

"I'd love to see them when you find them," Callie said.

"We'll come to you for the appraisal," Joe said.

Frank sat down next to Callie and stole a strawberry off Nancy's plate. "What's everybody up to today?"

"Slogging around doing research," Nancy said.

"Yup," Joe agreed.

"I'm going to an estate sale this morning to look over some portraits for a client," Callie said, looking pleased at the prospect. "And I'm meeting George and Myra for lunch. You should come, Nan."

"That sounds great. I'll be there."

Callie finished her juice and stood up. "Okay, you beautiful people. I've got to get to work."

"I'll take care of your dishes," Frank said, walking her to the door. Callie pulled on her coat and scarf and leaned in to kiss Frank goodbye- a very deep, thorough, satisfied kiss. When it was over Frank held her for a moment more, his face relaxed and smiling.

"Sure you can't stay home today?"

Callie shook her head. "I know you. You've already got your day planned out. I'll just ruin that if I stay home now." She kissed him again. "Enjoy your day off. I'll be home after lunch."

"I love you. Drive safe."

"Love you, too. Bye, guys."

Nancy smiled at Frank as he returned to the kitchen. "Callie looks so much better today. Whatever you did last night, keep it up."

Frank blushed. "I'm sorry, guys. We didn't mean to monopolize the apartment."

"Now, see, here's where I could give you a lot of crap for acting that way after complaining about dealing with me and Nancy," Joe said, grinning. "But I'm gonna be the bigger man and not say any of that."

"Gee," Frank said sarcastically. "Thanks, Joe."

"I'm just glad you two had a nice night together," Nancy said. "You both look much more relaxed."

"We did a lot of talking," Frank said. "Shut up, Joe! We did talk!"

"Did I say anything?"

"You didn't have to!" Frank looked back at Nancy. "I'm so happy about this baby. I can't even describe to you guys how...well, happy...I am." He sort of laughed at himself and his inability to find words big enough to explain how he was feeling. "But at the same time, it kind of hits you really hard, getting news like that. It changes the entire world."

"I can imagine," Nancy said softly. "Callie seems so overwhelmed."

A shadow passed over Frank's face. "Yeah."

"We're here for you," Joe said, in complete earnest now. "Even after you move out. If you need to talk, or if you need a sitter, or if you need someone to come mow your lawn, or-"

Frank cut him off. "Thanks, Joe," he said, putting an arm around his little brother's shoulders. "You know I'm going to take you up on that lawn-mowing offer."

"That offer is only good until the little guy starts kindergarten. By then you should have a pretty good grasp of the parenting thing."

Frank laughed. "I certainly hope so."

"So what are you doing with your day off?" Nancy asked.

"Oh, I thought I'd head to the marina and do some tinkering on the Sleuth," Frank said. "Don't look so guilty, Joe. You don't need to help out. You did most of the work winterizing her. I just need some project time right now."

"Okay. I get that."

After Frank had gone the apartment seemed suddenly much bigger and quieter. Nancy sipped her coffee and looked around, feeling suddenly very serious.

 _This is how it's always going to be, pretty soon. Just me and Joe._ Just her and Joe, cooking meals and talking and working and folding laundry- as many days as she stayed over, anyway. And these days she was here more than she was home.

 _Me, Joe, Frank, Callie...we've been like a group of kids playing house,_ she thought, feeling the weight of the idea pressing on her for the first time. _And without them here, it's going to feel so much more... domestic. Ordinary. What are we doing?_

"So, you want to take a George class?" Joe asked, snapping her out of her brown study.

"Yeah, I do. I could use a refresher course, and it'll definitely help me get back in the habit of pushing myself. I didn't realize how bad I was until I tried to keep up with you guys this morning."

"You really weren't that bad, Nan. You were right there behind us the whole time."

"Right there behind you, gasping like a stranded trout," Nancy retorted. "Face it. I'm really out of shape."

"I love your shape."

Nancy rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah. Which class are you going to take? Self defense or judo?"

"I'm not sure yet. It's been awhile since I did any martial arts." Nancy got up and took their dishes to the sink.

"Do you still have the moves, Drew?" Joe struck a pose. Nancy countered it.

"I still have the moves, Hardy."

"Prove it."

For a few minutes there was no conversation, just the sounds of scuffling and footfalls. Joe was stronger, but Nancy was faster. They were pretty evenly matched, for a little while. Then Nancy's scarred hand stopped cooperating and she resorted to tackling Joe and clinging onto his back.

"I'm not sure George teaches her students this!" Joe protested, trying to shake her off.

"She teaches resourcefulness," Nancy countered, holding on tighter. Joe gave up and walked off toward his bedroom, carrying her along with him.

"Joseph!"

"What?"

She leaned forward over his shoulder to bite his ear. "You're supposed to surrender. Stop walking away!"

"Why should I surrender? I've just taken you prisoner!" he said, laughing.

"Joe!" Nancy tried to slide off his back, then; but he was holding on to her forearms and she could not unclasp them or get down.

"Though she is little, she is not as fierce as she thinketh," he misquoted, marching into his bathroom and lifting her down onto the bath mat.

"Shakespeare would not approve."

"I beg to differ. That guy had a pretty dirty imagination." Joe's hands were busy tugging her t-shirt up over her head. He tossed it in the general direction of his bedroom and stepped forward to kiss her, those big hands settling at her waist, warm against her bare skin. Nancy stepped forward too, leaning into his embrace. They broke apart breathless and a little dizzy with the strength of the kiss.

"Wow," Nancy murmured.

"Yeah," Joe said. He tipped her face up and kissed her again. "I think I might surrender, after all."

"We'll call it a tie."

"I'm the luckiest guy," Joe said, cupping her cheek. "You're so much fun, Nan."

Nancy slid her hands up under his t-shirt, coaxing him to pull it off. "I love this life," she said. "And you. I love you. Now let's get a shower before Frank and Callie get back."

"Best idea you've had all day," Joe said, tossing his pants toward the rest of their clothing. Nancy reached in to start the water and they got into the shower, stepping together again like a pair of magnets for another long kiss.

Nancy sighed happily as they broke apart. "This is nice," she said, turning her face up to the stream of hot water. "If we ever split up, I want custody of your water heater."

"I'll have my lawyer make a note of that." Joe reached for the shampoo and started washing Nancy's hair.

"That feels good," she told him, closing her eyes.

"Did I put in enough shampoo?"

"I didn't see, but I'm sure it's fine." She was quiet for a few moments, enjoying the attention.

"Thanksgiving is next week," she said finally. "What are our plans?"

Joe finished rinsing her hair and reached for her conditioner. "Well, you're invited to our family thing."

"You're invited to ours, too. What time is yours?"

"Lunchtime-ish."

"Perfect. Ours is an evening thing."

She could hear the smile in Joe's voice. "So we hit both and get double the pie. I'm not seeing any downside here."

"The downside is that I'm going to have to go out on Black Friday for an entirely new wardrobe. We have too many good cooks in our families."

Joe traded places with her and reached for his own shampoo. "Speaking of which, are Bess and Tom having their usual post-Thanksgiving thing? Or will they still be in Hawaii?"

"No, they'll be back before Thanksgiving. I'll check with her again, but I think we're still on for Saturday afternoon."

"Good. I was prepared to fly out to Hawaii myself and demand some of her cranberry sauce."

Nancy raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? Out of her entire repertoire, you'd demand the cranberry sauce?"

Joe shrugged. "You taste that and you know it's Thanksgiving," he explained. "It's not something you eat any other time of the year."

"That's true." Nancy ducked under the spray to rinse the conditioner out of her hair. "Don't book a flight, though. She'll be back. Bess lives for events like that. She gets to cook, she gets to socialize, she gets to agonize over her outfit for months ahead of time...she adores everything about it."

Joe had already stepped out of the shower. Nancy shut off the water and reached for her own towel. Part of her was a little disappointed that their earlier playfulness had not progressed to intimacy, but part of her was relieved. She was eager to get dressed and get to work.

"We decided to split up again today, right?" Joe called from the bedroom. Nancy hung up her towel and walked out of the bathroom.

"We did. You're going to talk to some police contacts about DNA evidence at the crime scene and try to get a straight answer out of The Douche. I'm going to talk to Faith and try to see Brendan's apartment again, then swing by home to grab my computer." She pulled a clean set of underclothes out of her overnight bag and slid them on.

"You know you can have a dresser drawer for that stuff," Joe said, frowning. "I've offered a thousand times."

"I know, Joe. It just seems a little invasive."

"Nan. You have stuff all over this apartment. One drawer isn't going to make me cry." He studied her for a moment. "Is it the commitment thing?"

"I don't want to push things."

"It's a drawer, not a signed contract. I already emptied it for you."

"Fine. I'll put things in it next time I'm here." Nancy set down her bag and went back to the bathroom to dry her hair, glad for the excuse to walk away from him. Their casual arrangement seemed to have been pushed all off balance lately: Joe's repeated offer of storage space was a confusing contradiction to their mutual decision to take things lightly. It was too much like moving in, too significant to pretend it didn't matter.

By the time her hair was dry she was feeling calmer. Joe, fully dressed now in jeans and a brown henley, came in to lean on the counter and watch her do her makeup.

 _He's being a little clingy today,_ Nancy thought, her confusion bubbling up again. Aloud, she said, "Want me to do yours next?"

"No, I doubt that'd be a good look for me. How did you learn to do that?"

"From Bess, mostly. And practice. Why the sudden interest? You must have seen girls do this a million times." She made her voice very light, deliberately not saying _You must have watched Iola do this, countless mornings._

Joe looked at her, cocking his head a little. He knew exactly what she meant. "Not really," he said, speaking as carefully as she had. "I've never lived with a girl before."

"You've dated a few girls," Nancy said, looking through her makeup bag for her mascara to keep from having to look at him.

"I never slept with Iola, Nan. I thought you knew that. You were friends with her."

"She was pretty private about your relationship," Nancy said, trying to hide her surprise. "She wasn't like Bess, who had no problem giving us a play-by-play of every date she ever went on."

"Well, we didn't," Joe said.

"So Vanessa was your first?"

Joe winced. "Yeah."

"As much makeup as she wore, I'm surprised you're not an expert," Nancy said; and for a moment her own cattiness made her bite her tongue. But then Joe laughed, and she relaxed, and she finished applying her mascara.

"Why were you so surprised?" Joe asked, handing Nancy her stockings.

"Oh...well, you had a reputation," she said vaguely. She sat down on his bed to put them on. Joe knelt, suddenly, and began deftly and gently rolling the sheer material up Nancy's leg. He looked up at her, his face so serious it made her heart flutter.

"A reputation?"

"You're a flirt," she told him. "And a lot of girls claimed they'd slept with you. We all assumed you and Iola had consummated things."

"I wanted to, but she wasn't ready," Joe said, shrugging. "And everybody else was lying. Flirting is one thing, but I don't sleep with anyone unless it means something." He kissed her knee and drew the second stocking up over it.

"You slept with me, the first night we re-connected," Nancy said shakily, watching him clip the stockings to her garter belt.

"It meant something," Joe said, reaching for the dress she had laid out before their run. Nancy stepped into it and let him zip her up the back.

 _He's not being clingy. He's being absolutely adoring,_ she thought miserably. What was he thinking? What was prompting this? He was always a great boyfriend, but this was an unprecedented level of attentiveness. It did not mesh with their declaration of unreadiness for marriage, and it was confusing.

"Good luck today," he said gently, kissing her.

"You, too. I still hate splitting up," Nancy said, refocusing on the case.

"We'll compare notes as soon as we can. And I promise I'll text you if I find out anything especially good."

"Likewise," Nancy promised, feeling a little better. After all, they could cover much more territory separately than together. And perhaps spending the morning away from him would help her get some perspective on her sudden confusion about their relationship.

*****************************************************************

Faith was on the third floor of the campus library, shelving a stack of mystery novels. She set them down as Nancy approached.

"Everything gets resolved so neatly in these things," the girl said, tapping the lurid cover of the uppermost book.

"I'm sorry, Faith. We're doing the best we can."

The girl blushed. "I didn't mean it as a criticism of your work. I'm sorry." She picked up her stack and gestured for Nancy to follow her along the shelf as she worked. "Joe stopped by and filled me in on your progress yesterday. Has there been a new development?"

"Nothing major," Nancy said. "Actually, I was wondering if you could let me in to see your brother's apartment again. Something has been bothering me about the place."

"I work until 5 today, but I can lend you my key. What do you expect to find?"

"I'm not sure, but I need to take a look at it."

*************************************************

Faith had assured her that Keith was in class at this hour, and this time he really was. Nancy stood very still in the middle of the apartment, eyes closed, thinking as hard as she could think. _Visualize what you saw the first time you walked in. It's right there, right on the tip of my tongue. What was it?_

The problem had been Allie. Nancy's building jealousy had thrown off her concentration during that first visit. Try as she might, Nancy couldn't pin down the source of her puzzlement. She had tried retracing her steps. Visualizing the apartment was not helping either. Nancy rubbed a hand across her eyes and sighed. She had one more trick up her sleeve, and it was not something that came easy to her. Nancy closed her eyes again and made her mind a complete blank: not trying to remember, not trying to think, simply focusing on her own breathing.

"Papers," she said suddenly, and she opened her eyes. "There were a few papers with Brendan's handwriting on them on the kitchen counter when we got here, and by the time I was done investigating his bedroom they were gone. That's what's been bothering me! But what did they say, and which one of us moved them?" It hadn't been Joe; he would have said something to her. That left Faith, Diarmid, Allie, or Keith. One of those four had something to hide.

"And that's assuming the papers were even relevant to the case," Nancy murmured. "It could have been an old homework assignment, or a grocery list." She rubbed her eyes again, feeling a headache coming on. She texted her epiphany to Joe in case it was something he could use in his interview with Diarmid and Allie that morning, slipped the key under Faith's apartment door, and headed for home.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Warning

The sound of the vacuum greeted Nancy as she opened the door of the Drew residence. When she poked her head into the living room to blow Hannah a kiss, Hannah merely waved hello without her usual beaming smile and resumed vacuuming furiously.

"That's peculiar," Nancy said aloud. She hesitated, wondering if she should interrupt Hannah's chore to ask what was wrong, but decided against it. Instead she resumed her original course: to the kitchen, first, for a glass of water, and then upstairs to grab her laptop. She spent a few minutes in her room, putting away some laundry and grabbing a few sets of clean clothes to take with her. When the vacuum cleaner went silent she returned to the living room, led by equal parts curiousity and compassion.

Hannah was winding up the vacuum cord. The thunderclouds on her face had not abated any. "Hi, Nancy," she said.

"Hi, yourself. What's wrong?" Nancy asked sympathetically. She set her laptop on the end table and curled up in her usual spot on the couch.

"Oh, nothing dreadful," Hannah said. "I'm just letting myself have a bit of a sulk."

"One of those days?"

"Oh, you name it. My bread didn't rise, I broke a plate, the vacuum hose was all clogged up, my friend Sheila cancelled our lunch date because she twisted her ankle... None of it is going to make the world jump off its axis, but I'm frustrated."

"I'm sorry, Hannah. I hope your day gets better."

"It already has," the housekeeper said. "You're here. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Tea sounds lovely."

"Back in a moment, then." Hannah withdrew. Nancy booted up her computer and began her first task: using the account she and Joe had created to compose a message to gargoylegrinning via the forum's private messaging feature.

"Here you go." Hannah set a mug of tea and a freshly-baked scone on the end table next to Nancy. She sat down in her own usual chair with her own refreshments, sighing a very long sigh.

"Thank you, Hannah," Nancy said gratefully, reaching for the scone. She took a bite and smiled. "If it cheers you up any, this scone is delicious."

"Thank you, dear. That does help." Hannah took a careful sip of her hot tea. "Are you working on your case?"

"I am. I've just sent a message to a possible suspect, and now I'm trying to do some geneological research to see whether I can verify a Connolly family rumor. They claim their ancestor faked his own death and started a new family in Hawaii after the war."

"That's certainly nothing to be proud of!" Hannah exclaimed.

"No, it's not."

Hannah reached for her knitting. "Don't mind me, dear. I won't keep you from your work."

For some time there was silence, broken only by the tapping of Nancy's computer keys. So absorbed were they in their separate tasks that when Nancy's phone chimed, both women jumped.

"Sorry!" Nancy said, pulling the phone out of her pocket. The screen showed a text from Bess.

 _Nancy Drew, you're a bad influence on me._

 _What did you do?_ Nancy sent back.

 _A little snooping. That's all. I saw this being delivered when we came down for brunch today._ A photo popped up: a package sitting on someone's desk, with a River Heights postmark clearly visible.

 _I checked out the return address,_ Bess added. _You owe me big time. I was late for my manicure._

 _You're a peach, Bess. You're an angel. What about the address?_

 _It's a PO box registered to...get this. Sandy Beaches. Totally fake, right?_

 _Damn right. Thanks, Bessie. This is gold._

Nancy forwarded the information quickly to Joe. She could still catch him before he spoke with Allie and Diarmid. It was a long shot that they had anything to do with this- but knowledge is power, after all. It certainly couldn't hurt.

"Good news?" Hannah asked, watching Nancy's face.

"Sort of. I think Bess just verified my Hawaii connection for me," Nancy said, closing her laptop. Her mind was whirling. Someone here in River Heights was in contact with someone back in Hawaii. She couldn't help but think of Allie. Hawaiian last names did not exactly abound in River Heights. But all she had against Allie was the girl's repellent attitude and one afternoon of very determined flirtation with Joe. Keith came to mind again; talkative, unguarded, materialistic Keith. Could he have struck a bargain with the other half of the Connolly family and sacrificed his friend? Nancy sighed. She hoped Joe got some new information on his errands today.

"Nancy," Hannah said suddenly, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but have you spoken to your father recently?"

Nancy looked at her, a bit perplexed at the abrupt change of topic. "Yes, I had lunch with Dad yesterday."

"Did you have a good talk with him?" Hannah asked. She had never been very good at dropping hints. Nancy knew what was coming.

"He told me he plans to propose to Camille."

"That's big news," Hannah said, still beating around the bush.

Nancy nodded. "Big news," she said softly.

"Yes, things are certainly changing around here," Hannah said meaningfully.

Nancy was starting to feel uneasy. "It's just an engagement," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "Things shouldn't change too drastically. Unless- is she moving in here?"

"Nancy," Hannah said, reaching for the younger woman's hand, "I've given my two-months notice."

"Hannah, no!"

"Hear me out, sweetheart. I've already talked this over with your father and Camille. They asked me to stay on."

"Good!" Nancy exclaimed.

"And I said no," Hannah continued.

"Why?"

"It's time," Hannah said simply. "Carson and Camille are more than capable of managing the house for themselves. I'll still come in a few hours a week to do some basic cleaning and food preparation. But it's a new era, sweetie. You're grown and all but moved out, and they're going to be newlyweds. It's time for me to move on. I'd like to focus on volunteering and serving the community." She held up a hand, stopping Nancy from interjecting. "Truth be told, I'm very excited about this. I've put away a comfortable amount over the years and I just put a down payment on the prettiest little house, with a little rose garden. It's within walking distance of the library..." Hannah trailed off. "Nancy. Don't look so sad."

"I'm sorry, Hannah. You look so happy. But it's not going to feel like home without you," Nancy said, ashamed of herself for sounding like a whiny child. Hannah squeezed her hand gently.

"Oh, honey, I'm not going far. I promise I'm going to be as much a part of your life as I ever was. Do you think a little thing like a change of address could make me love you less?"

"Of course not," Nancy said.

"There was another thing Carson said he was going to talk to you about," Hannah said gravely.

"The ring?"

"Yes. Did he give it to you?"

"He did."

"You don't look as happy as I thought you might."

Nancy sighed and stirred her tea, watching the amber liquid swirl in the cup. "Hannah, I think I made a mistake." The housekeeper waited, saying nothing, letting Nancy gather her own thoughts.

"Joe's mom gave him a ring recently, too. Everyone seems to be expecting us to get engaged soon."

"Everyone except you?" Hannah asked.

"We talked about it, and we agreed we're not ready," Nancy said. "But, Hannah, as soon as I said it I regretted it. I feel like we just pushed ourselves back a step when we should have moved forward. And he's been acting so weird. I don't know what's going on with him."

"Is he acting distant?" Hannah said knowingly.

"No. The exact opposite, actually. But I can't figure out if he's relieved that he doesn't have to make any commitments, or scared I might be pulling away, or trying to smooth things over so I won't be so upset when he pulls away..." Nancy shook her head. "Oh, Hannah, I really messed things up this time."

"Are you telling me you might want to get married? Can this be my Nancy?" Hannah teased.

"I don't know!" Nancy said. "I've been engaged before. Why are you so surprised?"

"I knew you weren't going to marry Ned," Hannah said, sounding as though it had been perfectly obvious. "You're smarter than that. You accepted his ring out of habit, that's all."

Nancy choked back a laugh. "I did care for Ned, Hannah. I loved him."

"Oh, I'm not saying you didn't. Ned is a wonderful young man." Hannah looked thoughtful. "You know those stock photos of couples that come with picture frames?"

"Yes?"

"That's what you and Ned were like. You looked good together and you functioned well, but there was no lasting meaning. You and Joe are the photo that the frame was meant to display. You're..." Hannah paused, choosing her words carefully. "You're perfectly imperfect." Hannah studied her surrogate daughter seriously. "I felt that way about Arthur, you know. We were soulmates."

"Is that why you never remarried?" Nancy asked softly. Hannah had only spoken about her husband a few times over the years.

"I guess it is," Hannah said. "Arthur was it for me. We met at a church picnic when we were sixteen and my friend June poked me in the ribs with her bony elbow and said _Hannah, that boy is sweet on you._ And he was. We shared a slice of banana cream pie by the river and from then on we were inseparable."

"That's the sweetest love story I've ever heard," Nancy said.

"Well," Hannah said, sipping her tea. "We didn't get our happily-ever-after, but we had some good years, and I can truly say we never stopped loving each other. And when he was gone, and I thought my life would be empty forever, along came Carson Drew and his beautiful little girl. And you know the rest of that story." She smiled at the young woman sitting across from her.

"That's a good story, too," Nancy said, smiling back.

Hannah picked up her knitting again. "So. Should I have a chat with Joe this afternoon? I can set him straight for you."

"No! Oh, please, no."

"I'm just teasing," the housekeeper said. "I don't think it's necessary, anyway. It's all going to work out. I've seen the way he looks at you, and that boy is besotted."

Nancy giggled. "Besotted?"

"That's what I said." Hannah had got to a tricky bit of her knitting and concentrated on it for a moment. Finally she lowered it to her lap and looked at Nancy. "Be vulnerable with him. Show him your heart. He knows you're independent and he may be afraid you'll run if he tries to pin you down."

"I hadn't thought of that," Nancy said thoughtfully. "Thanks, Hannah. I feel better."

"Good," Hannah said with satisfaction. She set aside her needles. "So that was Bess on the phone? How is she doing?"

"She's having a wonderful time out there," Nancy said.

"Talking of marriages- now there's a girl I didn't expect to marry so young," Hannah said.

"Really? Bess is a born romantic."

"Bess is a born flirt," Hannah said drily.

Nancy laughed. "So is Tom. They're like a pair of butterflies. They didn't really settle down so much as decide to flutter through life together."

"And now they're having their second baby," Hannah said.

"Don't start getting that mother hen look in your eyes," Nancy warned. "I'm not even sold on the marriage thing yet. Babies are not happening anytime soon."

"We'll see," said Hannah, and let the subject drop.

"On that note," Nancy said, sliding her computer into her bag, "I've got to go meet Callie and George and Myra for lunch downtown."

"Give Myra a kiss for me," Hannah said, walking Nancy to the door.

"I will." Nancy leaned in and kissed Hannah's cheek. "Thank you, Hannah. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Then it's a good thing you're not getting rid of me anytime soon," Hannah said stoutly.

Nancy arrived at the girls' lunch meet-up with her mood dragging slightly, despite Hannah's cheering talk. While she was feeling better about her personal life, she was worried about the case. Joe had called while she was on the road to tell her that his police contacts had told him there was no usable DNA evidence at either crime scene, and that Diarmid and Allie had not been unreachable. They were not at home or answering their phones. It was a slightly discouraged detective who parallel-parked her roadster up the street from the diner Callie had texted her they were meeting at- the Town Square, not the Moonlight- and walked in, hoping the meal would be quick. She felt restless. She needed to take action, to force a new angle to open up in this investigation. Surely there was someplace she could break into, some witness she could interrogate...

"Nancy!" Myra yelled, waving both hands above her head joyfully. Nancy couldn't help smiling. She made her way over to the table George and Myra had claimed and gave the little girl a kiss.

"Hi, George. Hi, Myra-bird! Do you have your very own menu?"

"I'm asposed to order," Myra said, poring seriously over her upside-down menu. "I want French toast and coffee."

"Not happening, short stuff," George said.

"Okay. Chocolate milk," Myra said coolly, handing her menu to Nancy.

Nancy laughed. "She's Bess's daughter, all right."

"You're telling me. You're not the one who had to explain to her why we don't chase boys on the playground and kiss them."

Myra, who had been playing with George's car keys, swung her head up to glare. "But I _want_ to," she began.

"Myra, look! Here comes Callie," Nancy said quickly, cutting short the impending tirade.

"Callie!" Myra shrieked happily.

"Hi, girls," Callie said, taking a seat across from Nancy. She pulled off her gloves, shivering. "It's cold out there!"

"Thanks for coming all the way out here," George told her.

"No problem," Callie said. "I wouldn't want to venture too far from home with a newly potty-trained kid either." A strange look crossed her face.

"That's a few years off," Nancy told her friend. "Worry about it later."

George unwrapped Myra's straw for her and helped her take a drink of water. "I'm, like, 80 percent sure Vidalia isn't working this shift, Cal."

Callie made a face. "Whatever. I can deal with her."

"Vidalia who?" Nancy asked, reaching for her own water glass.

"Vidalia, um...shit, I don't remember," George said. She clapped a hand over her mouth. "I mean shoot."

"She's a waitress here," Callie said. "She has a big crush on Frank, and she hates me."

Remembrance dawned on Nancy. "Oh, I know who she is! I grabbed lunch with him here a few months ago and she gave me the evil eye the whole time."

Callie rolled her eyes. "I'm not that possessive of the guy, and I'm marrying him."

"She was like that in high school too," George said. "I had a locker next to hers my freshman year. She got in trouble for stalking one of the football players. I guess she just transferred her obsession to Frank."

Nancy wasn't listening. She'd spotted a familiar head of curly hair at the counter. "Nova?" she called over. The girl turned.

"Hi!" she said, sliding off her stool and walking over to the group. "Nancy, right?"

Nancy nodded. "Is it a bad sign when the staff of one diner comes to eat at another diner?" she teased.

"I promise the food at the Moonlight is just fine," Nova said, grinning. "I just happened to be running an errand out this way."

"Girls, this is Nova Bates. She went to school with Joe," Nancy said. "Nova, these are my girls- George and Callie and Myra."

"Nice to meet you all," Nova said, giving them an awkward little wave.

"Do you want to join us?" Nancy offered.

"Sure!" Nova said. She went back to grab her plate and glass and when she returned, Vidalia followed in her wake.

"Hi, ladies. Can I get you started with some drinks?"

"Chocolate milk!" Myra said happily.

"I'd like a ginger ale, please," Callie said.

"All out," Vidalia said curtly.

Callie's eyebrows lifted. "Okay," she said slowly. "Then I'll have a Sprite."

The waitress turned to Nancy and George. "And for you?"

"Just water," George said.

"Peach tea, please," Nancy added.

George leaned in as Vidalia walked off toward the kitchen. "I'm sorry, Callie."

"Please," Callie said dismissively. "She's annoying, but I can deal."

"If I acted like that I don't think I'd have my job much longer," Nova said, shaking her head.

"She's got a thing for Callie's fiance," Nancy explained.

"That shouldn't matter," Nova said.

"You're a waitress at the Moonlight, Nova?" Callie said politely, changing the subject.

"Yup," Nova said cheerfully. "I love it. Free food and plenty of human interaction."

"My cousin Bess worked there for a little while in high school," George said. "She liked it, too."

"Joe and I ate there and interrogated Nova the other night," Nancy told her friends.

"I've been dying to know more. Did I crack the case for you?" Nova asked.

"No, but you were very helpful."

"It's killing me that I can't help out more on this case," George said, catching one of Myra's crayons before it could roll off the table. The little girl was happily occupied with a small coloring book George had dug out of her bag.

"You already did the most important part. You brought the case to me," Nancy said.

"Bullsh- bull poop. I want in on the action."

Callie laughed. "Isn't work exciting enough for you?"

"I teach martial arts to children. Does that sound exciting?" George took a sip of her water. "Actually, we did have some excitement yesterday. One of my ten-year-olds decided she'd rather be a Jedi than practice judo. She told everyone she was going to use the Force on them. And the this other kid got so mad at her for cheating, he actually cried."

"He seriously said she was cheating?" Nancy asked, laughing.

"Cross my heart," George said solemnly. "Kids can be so gullible."

"What did you do?" Nova asked curiously.

"Oh, I fed her some story about how part of being a Jedi is mastering control over yourself, and judo could help with that. She did eventually apologize to the crying kid."

"Where's my pink color?" Myra asked suddenly, shaking out the whole box of crayons on her placemat. George and Nancy scrambled to catch them before they all ended up on the floor; and by the time they had the crayons contained, Vidalia was back to give them their drinks and take their lunch orders.

"You ordered food, Callie!" Nancy said when they were alone again.

"Yeah, I'm taking a chance on it. I'm feeling a little better today." Callie reached for her glass and took a drink, a surprised look crossing her face. "Oh. This is really flat. Is everyone's soda flat?"

"No, mine's fine," Nancy said.

Nova shook her head. "Mine's okay too."

"The green-eyed monster strikes again!" Nancy said.

"We'll get you a new one," George said, looking around for a different waitress.

"No, its fine," Callie said quickly. "Actually, this is going to sit better on my stomach."

"Callie Shaw. We've talked about this," George said. "There is such a thing as being too nice."

"I know," Callie said, shaking her head. "I'm serious, though. Its fine." She looked at Nova. "I'm pregnant," she explained.

"How exciting! Congratulations!" Nova said.

"My mommy is pregnant!" Myra exclaimed. "Do you have a baby sister in there too?"

"I'm not sure what I have in there yet," Callie said, laughing.

"When are you due?" Nova asked.

"Sometime in August. I should find out more when I see the doctor."

"Oh, do you have an appointment?" Nancy asked, interested.

"The Thursday after Thanksgiving. I'm nervous, guys."

"Talk to Bess about it when she gets back," George advised. "She can talk you through this whole thing."

"Are you due in the fall, too?" Nova asked George.

"Me? What?" George sputtered.

"George isn't Myra's mother," Nancy said hastily. "Myra belongs to Bess. George is babysitting."

Nova's face was scarlet. "I'm so sorry- you really don't look pregnant, I just assumed. Oh wow. I'm sorry."

George laughed, suddenly. "No worries. I guess I kind of set myself up for that. See if I ever carry crayons and a sippy cup in my bag again, Miss Myra!"

Their food arrived then- a welcome distraction. Nova's embarrassment diffused while they all began eating. After a few minutes Callie spoke up.

"So, Nan," she said. "What's up with you and Joe lately? He was being extra flirty at breakfast."

It was Nancy's turn to blush. "Says the girl who was batting her eyelashes at her man through the entire meal," she retorted.

"Uh-uh, missy. No sidetracking."

"I don't know. He's being really sweet, even for Joe."

"Joe? Sweet?" George snorted. "You've never played softball with the guy. You should hear the trash talk that comes out of that mouth."

"I know exactly how dirty that mouth is," Nancy said sweetly. George and Nova simultaneously pretended to gag.

"All right," George said with admiration, fist-bumping Nova.

"I remember him when he was in second grade. I don't want to hear about his dirty mouth," Nova said, shuddering.

"I don't think we met until we were ten or eleven," Nancy said.

"You and Bess both had the biggest crush on him," George remembered.

"That's so cute!" Callie said.

"Callie is marrying Joe's brother," Nancy told Nova.

"Really? Oh, that's awesome. Frank was such a sweetheart," Nova said. "Not that Joe wasn't, Nancy. I just hold a grudge because he knocked off my glasses with a dodgeball one time. They're both really great guys." She looked back at Callie. "When is the wedding?"

"June," Callie said, toying with the food on her plate.

"Is your food all right?" Nancy asked. "We can make her fix it if there's a problem."

"It's barely warm, and the plate is cold. I think she stuck it in the refrigerator before she brought it out."

"What a bitch!" Nancy exclaimed.

"Words!" George yelped.

"Sorry!" Nancy gasped, glancing at Myra. But Myra was blissfully absorbed in squishing butter into her French toast with both little hands. George grabbed a bunch of napkins and tried to repair the damage while Nancy flagged down a waitress to warm up Callie's lunch.

"Do you hate having kids at your tables?" Callie asked Nova.

"Not really," Nova said, shrugging. "It's sad, but they're not that much messier than some adults."

Callie's plate came back, properly warm this time, and the girls finished their lunch without further incident. Nova excused herself before much longer, saying she had really enjoyed meeting everyone, but she had to get to work. The remainder of the company lingered over cups of coffee or cocoa for about half an hour.

"Well," George said finally, lifting Myra from her booster seat. "It pains me to say this, but Myra and I have a Mommy and Me yoga class to attend."

Nancy giggled. "Say it again, Georgie. Say it louder. Say it like you're proud."

"Screw you, Drew."

"Screw you!" Myra echoed.

"Bess is going to kill you," Callie said.

"Yeah. That wasn't a very zen thing to say. You know what, Callie? I think that yoga class is just what George needs," Nancy said, trying to look serious. George flipped her the bird behind Myra's back, stuffed a stray crayon into her bag, and departed.

"Where are you headed, Nan?" Callie asked, taking a final sip of her flat soda. Nancy was buttoning her coat slowly and mentally planning out her course of action.

"I'm think I'm going to hit that new coffee shop to see if they stock some cookies Hannah wants, and then I'm going back to campus to interview a guy one of my suspects hooked up with the night of the murder." Nancy stretched and winced. "If I don't curl up in a ball right here, that is. Your fiance just about killed me this morning."

"Your mistake was going running with both Frank and Joe. They may be close, but when they do athletic stuff together they always get locked into this macho rivalry where neither one can ever back down."

"You're so right. I totally forgot about that until about a half mile in this morning."

Callie hooked her arm through Nancy's and they walked out together, content and companionable.

"It's still not raining!" Callie said happily, shading her eyes against the bright sunlight.

"Now if it were only 40 degrees warmer," Nancy said.

"Yeah, really."

Nancy paused and looked at her friend. "I'm glad you're feeling better today. It was nice to have a real meal with you."

"I agree," Callie said. "So, see you at home later?"

 _At home._ There was that phrase again. Nancy shifted her weight uncomfortably. "I'll probably be around," she said uncomfortably. Callie nodded, not seeming to notice her friend's inner struggle.

"Later, girlie. I parked in that lot."

"I'm up the street a bit. Later!" Nancy echoed.

Nancy walked off, deep in thought. She was absorbed with trying to make all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. Later, she would berate herself for this absorption. _Broad daylight or no, you should have been more alert._

It was all about patterns. But none of the patterns in this case seemed to match. There was the much-too-coincidental overlap between Allie's last name and the island where Diarmid Connolly had started his second family...that wasn't a pattern, albeit a fairly useless one without any evidence linking Allie with the Hawaiian Connollys. The dynamic of Brendan and Keith's relationship, and Keith and Faith's- a dynamic where Keith always seemed to come out on top- that was another pattern. But Keith did not appear to have gained from his friend's death, or to have a Hawaiian connection.

 _Maybe Maggie or her hookup from the party will help me connect the dots_ , Nancy thought, picking up her pace. She fumbled in her purse, fishing out the keys to her roadster. And suddenly the whole world seemed to jerk on its axis.

It took a moment for reality to settle back into recognizable shapes. When the disorientation of that moment passed Nancy realized that someone, a rather tall and strong someone, was pulling her down an alley. There was a hand clamped over her mouth to keep her from screaming. Nancy didn't stop to think. She twisted suddenly and got the hand holding her keys free. She swung at him, hoping the makeshift weapon would inflict enough pain to make him let go, but her assailant had quick reflexes. He caught her wrist and bent her fingers back until the keys dropped into a half-frozen puddle.

"Stay off the Connolly case!" he hissed at her from behind the _Scream_ mask he was wearing. The voice was toneless, as unrecognizable as the rest of him. He wore jeans and a black coat and a pair of rubber gloves.

"Go to hell," Nancy gasped, hoping to goad him into further speech. But he didn't take the bait. He shrugged and drew a knife from an inside coat pocket, as if to say You asked for it. From there the whole encounter devolved into a brief but vicious fight. Nancy found that she was not so much afraid as angry. She let the anger surge through her like electricity and she fought with all her strength, listening to what sounded like George's voice in the back of her mind, reminding her that her body was a weapon and she knew how to use it. Her attacker was breathing hard and fighting with panicked desperation. Clearly he had assumed she would be easier to dispatch. Nancy grinned. Inside her head George was cheering like crazy and Joe's voice suddenly joined in, reminding her she needed backup.

"Help!" Nancy shouted. It wasn't her loudest yell ever. Fighting is breathless work. But she repeated it a few times before she was too busy defending herself to spare the breath. Her attacker seemed to have gotten his second wind. In desperation, Nancy reached for the man's mask. That's when he stabbed her.

It was a miscalculation, really. Nancy had thought he would dodge back when threatened with being unmasked, instead of stepping into her onslaught and thrusting his knife into her. The blade caught her in the right side and she stumbled, her fingers sliding across the smooth surface of the mask. She managed to catch herself and elude his next slash, but she could tell she had been injured. In one last act of desperation Nancy lunged forward and kneed him in the groin, screaming something that might not have even been words; and suddenly he was running away, staggering slightly but still making good speed, and Nancy fell to her knees in the churned-up mud of the alleyway.

Footsteps pounded toward her. Nancy started pushing herself upright to meet whatever new assault was coming, and found herself face-to-face with Callie Shaw.

"Nancy!" Callie cried. "Oh, no. Sit back down." She had her phone in one hand and was trying to support Nancy with the other.

"What are you doing?" Nancy asked, but Callie was having a very flustered conversation with whoever she'd dialed, and did not answer her. Nancy sat down, more to make Callie stop gesturing at her than because she saw the need to.

Callie shoved her phone back into her coat pocket and knelt next to Nancy. "Lie down. The police and the paramedics are on their way."

"You're getting muddy," Nancy protested.

"I don't care."

"Why are you here?"

Callie was peeling back Nancy's coat with trembling fingers. Wisps of blonde hair fell forward, getting caught in the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I heard you yelling," she said. "Lie still. You're making it worse."

"You went home," Nancy said. Callie's hands were on her side, now, and she was pressing very hard. It hurt.

"I didn't make it very far. I was puking in the parking lot when I heard you." Callie tried to smile. "Good thing I'm pregnant, right? Please lie still, Nancy."

Nancy let her head fall back, thinking suddenly about the mud caking the hair Joe had washed so tenderly just a few hours ago. "I need to call Joe," she said.

"I'm covered in blood," Callie said helplessly.

"Where's my purse?"

Callie looked around. "I don't see it."

"Give me your phone." Nancy reached into Callie's pocket. Her hands were bruised, the knuckles skinned. She must have gotten in a few good punches. Like Callie, she was shaking with cold and leftover adrenaline. She managed to slide Callie's phone out of her pocket and brought it close to her face to send Joe a text. She set the phone on her chest and clasped her aching hands around it, feeling better.

"What did you tell him? 'Stabbed in alley, please come'?" Callie said angrily. "He could have met us at the hospital. This is going to hurt him."

"He's seen worse." Nancy closed her eyes. He would come. She could rest until then. But Callie wouldn't stop talking.

"What happened, Nancy? Who did this to you?"

"Big angry guy. He smelled like perfume," Nancy said blearily. "Is it bad?" She could smell blood now, cloying and sweet on the cold air. Callie turned her face away, trying not to gag.

"It's not bad," Callie said, swallowing hard. She was lying. "Just keep still. Help is coming."

Time seemed to stand still and leap forward all at once. Callie kept talking, kept making Nancy answer. And then suddenly there were feet all around her, and sirens, and lights, and people talking- all of which Nancy heard as if from the other end of a tunnel. Her head was spinning and part of her was whispering _I don't get this dizzy when I donate blood. I must be losing a lot._

Callie's face loomed close again. "I'll meet you at the hospital. I have Joe with me."

"No. I'm going with her. Frank is coming to pick you up, Cal."

Nancy had not cried up till this point, but tears of sheer relief welled up in her eyes when she heard Joe's voice. She heard him say a few choice words to a well-intentioned paramedic who was trying to make him get back. Then he was there at her side, looking into her face, blue eyes bright with emotion. He had that same clenched muscle in his jaw that Frank got when he was upset.

"Dammit, Nancy, there are easier ways to add a little excitement to your day," he said, managing to sound almost natural. Nancy grinned through her tears.

"He told me to stay off the case. That means we're getting somewhere!" she told him.

"Good news," Joe said softly. "But don't worry about it right now."

The paramedics were wheeling her toward the ambulance now. Nancy shook her head at Joe. "Don't say we need to worry about me right now. I'm fine."

"Yeah, you look fine. These people are clearly over-reacting." Joe vaulted up into the back of the ambulance and resumed his place by her side. "Let's humor them and get you checked out, okay?"

"I suppose," Nancy murmured.

Joe gently brushed a strand of hair back from her face. "Good girl."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Aftermath

(Author's Note: Joe references some things, at the end of this chapter, that may make more sense if you've read _The Secret of Idlewild Manor._ You probably won't be too lost if you haven't...but of course my recommendation is that you should, because it covers the beginning of Nancy and Joe's relationship and it was a lot of fun for me to write.)

"Nan, are you sure about this?" Joe asked, for approximately the ten thousandth time.

Nancy picked up the clipboard lying next to her on the bed and sighed, wincing slightly. "I'm sure."

Joe sighed and steepled his fingers in front of his face, looking as though he were trying to gather patience. "You. Just. Got. Stabbed," he said, speaking very slowly and forcefully.

"I. Know," she said back, imitating his tone. She shook her head. "Trust me, I know. But he didn't hit anything serious. The blade hit a rib. I'm bruised and I lost some blood, but I can recuperate just as well at home as here." She paused, staring him down. "I've seen you and Frank do the same thing time and time again. Don't try to deny it."

"Shit. Yeah. I know," he said, passing a hand wearily over his face.

"Then let's get out of here. I had an idea while I was dozing earlier, and I'd like to pursue it." Nancy uncapped her pen and flipped through the paperwork, signing her name at the bottom of a few pages. "There. I'm out of here."

"As soon as the nurse comes back to unhook you from all that," Joe said, gesturing toward the bedside IV pole and monitor. "So much for the grand gesture, Drew."

"Janet said she'd be back soon an hour ago," Nancy said, lying back against her pillow.

"You have to translate that into hospital time. She'll be back sometime around midnight," Joe grumbled, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.

Nancy had nothing to say to that. She reached for the TV remote and flipped channels until she found something to pass the time, and they both sat with their eyes fixed on the little screen, letting its foolishness dull the rawness of their emotions.

 _"We'll let you know if we find out anything important," the police officer who had interviewed Nancy had promised. He was very young and very earnest; Nancy had believed him. Another officer, an old acquaintance of Nancy's and Joe's, had bagged Nancy's clothes and swabbed her hands to check for evidence. The doctors had stabilized her, stitched her up, cleaned the abrasions on her knuckles, photographed her body to document every bruise and cut. Nancy felt naked, still. The doctors had told her she should stay overnight for observation, but she just wanted to go home, to get into her own clothes, to be safe among people who loved her._

"I'm going to get you another orange juice," Joe said suddenly, interrupting Nancy's thoughts. He practically leaped out of his chair and out into the hallway. Waiting was not Joe's strong point. He was back in a few minutes with a small bottle of juice.

"Joe, I appreciate your help, but this stuff is about to come out my ears."

"The doctor said you should drink a lot of fluids." Joe's eyes were dark-ringed and his jaw was set, just as it had been in the ambulance earlier. Nancy was struck, again, by how much he resembled Frank. Bess called that face "the Hardy stone wall"; Nancy knew it signaled unbreakable determination. He was going to take care of her, and he was going to get justice, and nothing in the universe could stand against him. Nancy took a sip of her juice and shivered slightly.

"Thanks, Joe," she said softly. "I'm sorry. I'm not a very good patient."

"I need you to take care of yourself," he said flatly. He prowled back over to his chair and sat, avoiding making eye contact with her, and they went back to staring at the TV. Onscreen, a peppy hostess was trying to teach them how to make carved pumpkin lanterns for their holiday table. Nancy glared at her for a few minutes while the tension between her and Joe drew itself out. Finally, just as she was getting ready to snap at him, Joe offered a truce.

"Only you, Nan," he said, shaking his head. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. "You just got your last set of stitches out. You're not supposed to celebrate by getting more."

Nancy laughed, and winced, and returned pressure on his hand. "I know. I really liked that dress, too," she said.

Joe stretched and shifted in his chair. "Okay, Drew. What's your great idea? If it involves a lot of action I'm vetoing it," he warned.

"It involves dinner," Nancy told him. "Am I allowed to eat dinner, Dr. Hardy?"

"That depends," Joe said warily. "Let's hear the whole story first."

"Okay. I want to get takeout and stop by Chet's garage and talk to him about helping us set a trap for this guy."

"Okay. Why Chet?"

"He's such a jack-of-all-trades. I bet he knows a lot about the 1940s and forums like the one we were on. We don't get involved in niche communities like that, so I bet we're missing all kinds of information Chet would notice."

Joe looked skeptical. "You're probably right, but that still seems like a lot of traipsing around for someone with ten stitches holding her together. Seriously, Nan, why don't you just stay overnight like the doctor wanted you to? We can call Chet from the comfort of your hospital bed."

"Because I'll go crazy, that's why." Nancy looked at him. "If he was desperate enough to come after me, we're hitting a nerve. One of these leads is the right one. Doesn't that make you want to keep chasing him?"

"Yes, but not at the expense of damaging you more. We'll get him, Nan. One night isn't going to make or break it."

"You don't know that," Nancy said, falling back against her pillow again in frustration. She huffed out a long breath and made herself calm down. "I'm sorry, Joe. I don't want to fight with you."

"I get it. Days like this put me on edge too." Joe shifted again, restless and uncomfortable in the plastic chair. "May I modify your plan? You stay here and get more rest, and I'll bring Chet and dinner to you."

"Or I could go home and rest there while you pick up Chet and dinner," Nancy countered.

Joe looked at her for a long moment. Nancy slipped her hand into his. "Please," she said. Joe's thumb was caressing her fingers, avoiding the bruises on her knuckles and the strip of tape holding the needle into her vein. She met his gaze, willing him to understand; because for all Hannah's good advice about being vulnerable, Nancy couldn't bring herself to say the words _I had a scary day and I want to go home, like a child fleeing to her parents._ But Joe seemed to understand. His face softened a little and he leaned in to kiss her forehead.

"I'll take you home, Drew."

A light tap on the half-open door startled them both. Janet, the nurse who had been caring for Nancy, walked in.

"How are we doing in here?" she said briskly, checking Nancy's monitor. "Looking good, hon. Are you experiencing any pain or disorientation?"

"I feel fine," Nancy said. "I'm a little sore, but that's normal."

The nurse raised an eyebrow at her. "You've been stabbed enough times to know what feels normal?" Her tone was assessing, rather than teasing. Nancy didn't miss the way the nurse's eyes flicked to Joe and then back to her patient.

"It comes with the territory," Nancy said, smiling disarmingly. "We're private detectives."

Janet's posture relaxed. "Maybe you should consider a new line of work," she said, adjusting Nancy's pillow. She paused, one hand on her hip. "Do I see discharge papers in your little hands? Nancy, honey, you're a sweet girl, but patients like you gave me a few of these grey hairs."

"I just need to go home," Nancy told her. "I'll be careful. This guy is going to make sure of that."

"Shoulda had this guy with you earlier. Maybe you wouldn't be in the shape you're in," Janet said, looking Joe's athletic frame over with evident approval. She took the clipboard from Nancy and flipped through the papers, nodding to herself. "Okay, sugar. It's all in order. Let me get you unhooked from all this mess." Pulling on a pair of gloves, she began releasing Nancy from the pulse oximeter and the IV.

"Here's what you need to do," she said, retrieving a bandage from a cabinet. "Take notes, Blondie, because something tells me Little Miss Detective is going to need reminding." She deftly pulled the needle out of Nancy's hand and placed a wad of cotton over the site. "Put pressure on this, baby. Good. Okay, so, Blondie: you take her home, you park her on the couch, you wrap her in the fluffiest blanket you own, and you turn on the TV. She needs to rest and keep up her fluid intake."

"Like when I donate blood," Nancy said, nodding.

"Except that you just donated an extra pint or so," Janet said, replacing Nancy's bit of cotton with a Band-Aid. "And you don't usually bruise any ribs while giving blood. I assume, anyway. Your life is evidently a boatload more exciting than mine." She looked into Nancy's eyes. "Your job right now is to rest and let your body heal. I don't want to see you back in here next week with an infection or needing a transfusion. Got it?"

"I understand," Nancy murmured.

Janet turned her gaze on Joe again. "Got it?" she repeated.

"Yes, ma'am," Joe said, so smartly that Nancy half expected him to salute.

"Okay," Janet said. "Given your level of experience, you probably don't need to be told this, but I'm supposed to tell you to keep your stitches dry and don't put any stress on the area. That means no excessive twisting or stretching or running around. No yoga, no trapeze acts, no rock climbing, no Kama Sutra stuff." She winked at Nancy. "If I had a bodyguard as handsome as that I'm not sure my common sense would hold out. But try to behave."

"I'll give it my best shot," Nancy said, returning the wink.

"Okay, hon. You are free to go. I don't want to see you again, hear?"

"Loud and clear. Thank you for everything, Janet."

It was a long walk to Joe's truck. Nancy was grateful for Joe's arm to lean on. He supported her and lifted her gently into the passenger seat and never once suggested that if she found a short walk to the parking lot exhausting she should have stayed in her hospital bed. Nancy buckled her seatbelt, holding the strap slack to keep pressure off her aching side, and let her head fall back against the headrest.

"They gave me your purse," Joe said, pulling it out from behind the seat. "Nothing was taken. But I'd hold off on checking your texts until you have more energy."

"I need to call Dad and let him know I'm coming home," Nancy said, pulling her phone out of its pocket. One glance at the screen told her Joe was right. She had a completely overwhelming amount of missed calls, voicemails, and texts.

"Holy shit."

Joe glanced over at her. "A little popular this evening, are we?"

"I'll deal with them later," Nancy said, tapping the screen again until she had pulled up her father's number. He picked up almost before the phone had started to ring.

"Nancy? What's the news?"

"Hi, Dad. I just wanted to let you know I'm on my way home."

"Nance, last time we spoke you said the doctor wanted to keep you overnight." Carson paused. His voice, when he spoke again, was definitely suspicious- the tone of a parent who has dealt with an offspring's reckless behavior too many times to count. "Are you driving right now?"

"No!" Nancy said, a hint of teenage exasperation creeping into her voice in response to his tone. "Joe is bringing me home. I'll see you soon."

"Are you grounded?" Joe joked as Nancy dropped her phone into the center console.

"Don't joke. I may very well be," Nancy said, grinning. "He is not pleased with me."

"And you can't even climb out your bedroom window after curfew with those stitches," Joe said, mock-sadly. "You're just going to have to serve your time, Drew. Maybe next time you'll make better choices."

"Stick a sock in it, Hardy." Nancy closed her eyes. But after a moment they popped open again and she reached for her phone.

"I knew you couldn't ignore all those messages. Give it here," Joe said.

"No, I'm just going to text Callie," Nancy told him. Her fingers felt clumsy but she managed to type out a heartfelt thank you and an update to her friend. Then Nancy turned off her phone. She would deal with the rest of the world in the morning. Right now she had just enough energy to keep herself upright and ponder her idea for Chet.

Hannah met them at the front door- was out the door, really, before Joe had even parked his truck, and was there waiting to wrap an arm around Nancy and help her up the steps into the house despite Nancy's protests.

"Joseph Hardy, you should have handcuffed her to that hospital bed," the housekeeper scolded. From the sound of it, she was not really joking.

"Don't think it didn't cross my mind," Joe told her.

"People! I am a grown woman, and it was my decision to leave!" Nancy said. She gently slipped away from Hannah and approached her father, who was standing in the middle of the living room.

"Dad, I'm fine," she said. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"I wasn't expecting this to happen, now that you're working with a partner," Carson said. But he stepped forward and gathered her into a long hug.

"Speaking of which, where did Joe go?" Nancy asked.

"He stepped out to take a phone call," Hannah said. "It was his brother, by the sounds of it."

"Okay." Nancy looked around, feeling a bit lost.

"What can we do for you, Nance?" Carson asked gently.

"I- I don't know," Nancy said, looking around the room again. "I think I want to go wash my hair."

"Is that wise, dear?" Hannah asked. "I don't want you to get dizzy and fall in the tub. You could really hurt yourself."

"I can't spend the night like this," Nancy said, feeling embarrassingly close to tears.

Before Hannah could reply, Joe walked back into the room. "Sorry about that," he said.

"Frank?" Nancy asked, getting control of herself.

Joe nodded. "He says to tell you he's glad you're okay. And he's going to have Callie let all the girls know you're all right."

"Thanks," Nancy said, feeling better about her unanswered messages.

Joe looked to Hannah. "I'm under very strict instructions to make sure Nancy sits down on the couch and doesn't move for a good long time."

"She says she wants a shower," Hannah told him.

"And something to wear that wasn't issued by the police department," Nancy added, gesturing at her outfit.

"How can you do that without putting stress on your stitches?" Joe asked.

Nancy glared at him. _We should have gone back to his place so he could help me wash it. I don't dare ask him to get in the shower with me in front of Dad and Hannah._ "I'll figure it out, Hardy. I'm pretty smart."

"Nancy, honey, what if I wash it for you at the laundry room sink? We'll set up a chair for you so you don't have to bend," Hannah said sensibly. She reached for Nancy's hand. "Come on. Let Hannah work her magic. Joe, would you mind running upstairs for Nancy's shampoo and a set of clean pajamas?"

"On it," Joe said.

"I'll make cocoa," Carson said to the world in general, and headed for the kitchen.

With the grime of that alleyway rinsed out of her hair, Nancy felt better. She dressed in the pajamas Joe had fetched for her and let Hannah walk her back out to the living room, where Joe draped her in a blanket and Carson pressed a steaming mug of cocoa into her cold hands.

"Now, dinner," Hannah said. "I'm afraid I didn't have much planned. Us old folks were just going to have some toast before bed. Oh, but I think there's some chicken soup in the freezer. I can defrost that."

"We were talking, earlier, about getting takeout," Joe said hesitantly. "We don't want to put you to any trouble."

"It wouldn't be any trouble. Do you really want to go driving out again to pick up food?"

"Not exactly," Joe admitted, his eyes on Nancy.

"What about Chet?" she asked him. "Did you talk to him?"

"I did. He said he'd come over pretty soon."

Hannah stood up. "I'll go warm up that soup. There's plenty for Chet, too."

"Thank you, Hannah," Nancy said. She took a sip of her drink and leaned back against the cushions, enjoying the warmth of her surroundings. For the first time since lunch, she was beginning to feel safe. She closed her eyes, letting the sounds of home wash over her: Hannah working in the kitchen, the fire crackling in the fireplace, her father and Joe calling out "Jeopardy!" answers at the television. When the show went to a commercial break Joe leaned back and captured her free hand, twining his fingers with hers.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"A little tired," Nancy admitted. She sat up a little and looked over at her father. "Dad, I just remembered. Aren't you supposed to be in New York City with Camille? Don't tell me I ruined your special weekend."

"You certainly didn't. This is still Thursday. We're catching an early train tomorrow morning." The lawyer hesitated. "Well, that was the plan. I don't feel right leaving you."

"Dad," Nancy said. "No! I'm fine. Please go."

"Camille would understand, Nancy."

"But she won't have to, because you're going." Nancy set her empty mug on the end table. "Dad, don't make me wear myself out arguing with you. I want you to have your weekend together. Does she know what you have planned?"

Carson shook his head. "If she has any suspicions, she's kept them to herself." He unfolded his tall form from the couch and grinned at her. "Wait here."

"Where would I go?" Nancy called after him. "Hannah will break my legs if I get off this couch!"

"And I won't stop her," Joe said.

"Some bodyguard," Nancy retorted, leaning into him anyway and winding an arm around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. "I forgot to thank you for coming."

Joe looked surprised. "Why wouldn't I have come?"

"I'm sure you had better things to do than sit in a hospital room all day."

"No. No, I didn't." He cupped her face gently, smoothing his thumb over a bruise on her cheekbone. "You are the most important thing in my life."

Nancy blushed. She couldn't come up with any words big enough to express how she felt, so she settled for kissing him again.

"Ahem," Carson said loudly. The young detectives jumped apart like a couple of guilty kids. Carson sat down between them, his eyes twinkling.

"Excuse me, young man. I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said innocently.

"Dad!" Nancy protested, laughing.

"I wanted to show you this," Carson said, and he held out a small black box. Joe peered over with interest as Nancy opened it.

"Is that your ring, sir?" he asked.

"It is," Carson confirmed.

Nancy paused with the box half-open. "Dad, you're blushing like a teenager with his first date to a dance," she teased. "Frank wasn't even this excited when he showed me Callie's ring."

"Am I not allowed to be happy?" Carson protested.

"I suppose I'll allow it," Nancy told him. "In fact-" And she broke off mid-sentence, because she had finally looked at the ring, and it was exquisite. Nancy actually gasped. She had never really been blown away by an engagement ring before, not even her own. They were pretty, of course, but they were all a little generic, and she had always felt a little cynical of the promise behind the flash. Most of the time, she felt, there was more flash than promise. But this ring...oh, this ring was spectacular: a simple white gold band crowned by a single pearl nestled between two clusters of smaller diamonds. Nancy slipped it reverently out of the box to show Joe, and an etching on the inside of the band caught her eye. She looked closer.

"A rose, and a lily of the valley?" she said, glancing at her father for confirmation. The lawyer nodded, looking anxious now.

"Is it too much?"

Nancy looked again, dredging up a half-forgotten memory. _Victorian flower language! Of course._ "The rose is 'love,' and the lily of the valley is...um...'respect?' No, wait. 'Return of happiness,' " she said aloud.

"Your memory never ceases to astound me," Carson said.

"I didn't know you were such a romantic!" Nancy said.

"Is it too much?" he asked again.

"Dad. This is perfect. Camille is going to bawl."

"Well, that doesn't sound perfect," the lawyer said.

Nancy slipped the ring back into its nest of velvet and handed it to Joe to examine. "Take my word as a woman, Dad. It's perfect."

"It really does look nice," Joe said, returning the precious box to its rightful owner.

"Are you showing off your ring?" Hannah asked, setting a tray of food on the coffee table.

"I think I've made poor Hannah admire it a hundred times," Carson said, slipping the box into his pocket.

"Camille is a lucky woman," Hannah said, passing out bowls of soup. She settled into her usual chair, pulling her knitting into her lap. "Is NCIS on yet?"

"By which she means, change the channel," Nancy told Joe. Carson was already reaching for the remote.

"Hannah, that's not the kind of show you usually watch," Joe said, a little surprised.

"All these years of dealing with you kids has given me a taste for adventure," Hannah said. "Besides, that Gibbs is so handsome."

Nancy exchanged a glance with Joe, trying not to giggle at Hannah's crush. _Who knows,_ she thought. _Maybe even Hannah will start dating again. Everything is changing so much._

The doorbell rang just as the episode was wrapping up. Joe jumped up to answer it, a gesture both courteous and wary. It was highly unlikely that anyone still pursuing Nancy would begin by ringing the doorbell; but still, the interruption had raised everyone's heart rates a little.

"It's just Chet," Joe called from the entryway. Nancy relaxed.

"Just Chet?" their friend repeated, sounding miffed. He came into view, holding out a plate of cookies. "Hi, everybody. Mom sent these over."

"Are those Jill Morton's famous snickerdoodles?" Hannah said eagerly. "Set those right on the coffee table, Chet. Can I get you some soup or a cup of coffee?"

"No, but thanks," Chet said, depositing his plate on the table as instructed. He looked at Nancy and hesitated, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. Nancy took pity on him.

"Sit down, Chet. I'm not going to spontaneously combust."

"You don't know that. Nobody can know that. Hence the name, _spontaneous_ combustion," Chet said; but he did take a seat in an armchair.

"How's business, Chet?" Carson asked genially, helping himself to a cookie.

"Can't complain," Chet said modestly. "Things have been pretty busy. We're even thinking about hiring some help. Little Hardy, how do you feel about handling oil changes and state inspections?"

"Forget it. I'm not going to give up detecting to be your grease monkey," Joe said good-naturedly. He had wandered out to the kitchen after letting Chet in, and had just returned with a large glass of water for Nancy. Carson slid over to the end of the couch and patted the middle cushion, inviting the younger man to resume his place next to his daughter.

"I drove past your shop the other day and I thought I saw a Corvette parked out front," Carson began, and Chet lit up. From there the conversation became very technical. Nancy, too tired to try to follow it, tuned them out and watched a set of commercials.

"How did things go with Delilah?" she asked, when the subject of Corvettes seemed to have run its course.

"I haven't asked her," Chet said.

"Why not?"

"She's...she's really pretty," Chet said mournfully.

"And why should that stop you?" Hannah asked kindly. "You're a handsome boy."

Carson reached over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Carpe diem, my young friend!" he advised.

"Dad's a bit enthusiastic about romance right now. He's going to propose this weekend," Nancy explained, taking an obedient sip of her water.

"Congratulations, Mr. Drew!" Chet said heartily.

"Let's not jump the gun," Carson said, shaking his head. "She hasn't said yes, yet."

"She will," Hannah said firmly, reaching for a cookie and handing one to Nancy while she was at it.

"Cinnamon has healing properties," she said firmly. "Eat up."

Nancy smiled. "That sounds like something Bess would say."

"Bess knows how to feed people right," Hannah said, rising from her chair. "All right. I think I'm going to call it a night." She bent and kissed Nancy's forehead. "I'm glad you're safe, sweetie."

"Me, too. Good night, Hannah."

"Wake me if you need anything. I mean it."

"I will," Nancy promised.

"All right," Chet said, when the housekeeper had gone. "You said you needed my help. Tell me what kind of insanity I've let myself in for this time."

"We just need that fantastic brain of yours," Nancy said, sitting up a little.

"Inside my head, right?" Chet said warily.

"Come on, buddy. We're probably never going to need to dissect you," Joe said, grinning. "We need you in an advisory capacity. We don't know anyone else who has a working knowledge of both World War II and antiques."

Chet brightened. He leaned forward. "This doesn't sound too dangerous. What do you need to know?"

"There's this forum," Joe said.

"A World War II forum. Our victim and chief suspect were very active on it prior to the murder," Nancy added.

"Um," said Chet. "What's the name of the site?"

" 'The Homefront,' " Nancy said.

"I know that look. He has an account there!" Joe said gleefully.

"What's it to you?" Chet retorted. "There's nothing wrong with being interested in things."

"No, it's great," Nancy said. "That will save a ton of time. We were wondering if you could help us analyze the dynamics of the forum, for starters. There are hundreds of threads there and we don't have the knowledge base to pick apart what could be unusual or significant. We want to know if anyone was acting...well, odd, or aggressive, or overly curious. Especially in their interactions with our two guys."

"The second part of the job is to help us set a trap," Joe said.

"I don't like how your traps usually go," Chet said.

"We're not reckless kids anymore, man. We have a pretty solid plan." Joe glanced at Nancy. "Well, we will by the time it all comes together."

"I'm going to regret this." Chet grabbed another cookie. "What's the plan?"

"We're going to put word out that we found another ammo box buried near the one Brendan dug up, and it contained another very valuable painting. And we'll say we're going to be taking it from a specific appraiser to a specific bank vault on a specific day, and see who shows up to steal it. Or something along those lines," Joe said, shrugging.

"We'll have it exhibited somewhere, maybe? So no messengers get harmed?" Nancy suggested.

"Okay, but nobody's going to trust you if you just pop up as a new account, claiming to have a treasure. They'll think you're a scammer," Chet said.

"And that's why we consulted you," said Nancy. "Your account is well-established. Can you start talking about it for us?"

"I've never given any indication of knowing your victim before," Chet pointed out. "Won't that look weird? Why can't you have his friend do it on his account?"

"Keith is one of our top suspects," Joe said. "We can't tip him off to the trap."

"What if you make another new account, claiming to be George's friend?" Carson suggested suddenly. He had been listening with great interest to the whole conversation. "Forgive me for interfering. It's just a thought."

"Kate?" Nancy asked.

"And we say that after Brendan found his artifact we got curious, did a little digging of our own, and found a second box!" Joe guessed.

"Exactly," Carson confirmed.

Chet looked thoughtful. "I guess that could work. It's still kind of suspicious, but it's more credible than a completely random person. People would have to believe it, just to be on the safe side."

"What I want to know is, why are people so fired up about treasure hunting on a World War II interest forum?" Carson asked.

"It's just one of the sub-forums," Chet explained. "People talk about a lot of stuff. Military stuff, life back home, sewing patterns, recipes, politics, you name it. And there are a lot of people interested in objects from that period."

"I see."

"Anyway," Chet said, shifting his attention back to Nancy and Joe, "I haven't been too active on there lately, but I can take some time tonight to look around and see if anyone is acting funny."

"Thanks, Chet," Nancy said gratefully. "We owe you one."

Chet took his leave after not too much longer, and Carson excused himself to finish packing for his trip and go to bed, leaving Nancy and Joe alone on the couch. Nancy nestled back against the cushions, sighing a very long, contented sigh.

"Feeling better, now that we talked with Chet?" Joe asked.

"Much," Nancy said, yawning.

Joe toyed with a loose thread on his cuff. "Nancy," he said, "do you think the guy who stabbed you is the same guy who stabbed Brendan?"

Nancy thought about this. "It seems likely, doesn't it? I'm glad he traded his bayonet for a knife though."

Joe shuddered. "Don't even think about that."

"Sorry." She reached out and took his hand. "What became of that bayonet, anyway? Did the police get any hits on anyone trying to sell one?"

"Not as of this morning."

Nancy sighed again. "At least we gleaned some new information from all this. I couldn't see his face, but I have a general idea of the guy's height and build. And he'll probably have some bruises on him, if we catch up with him quickly," she said, looking ruefully at her swollen knuckles. Joe looked, too, following her gaze.

"I'm glad my girlfriend can fight like hell," he said softly.

"I wouldn't want to meet me in a dark alley," Nancy said, trying to interject some bravado into her voice. "Oh. Here's another thing. He fought hard, but he had no discipline. It was like he completely lost his temper and went for me. I don't think anyone that combustible can be the brains of the outfit. I think he's the muscle, and he takes his orders from someone who doesn't mind unleashing him to achieve his or her ends."

Joe nodded. "Good theory. Do you think it could have been Keith or Diarmid?"

Nancy considered this. "They're both around the same height, aren't they? Keith isn't as bulky, but the guy today was wearing a puffy coat. And we still have to wonder who could have seen Keith's forum posts and decided to help himself." She paused. "I almost forgot. He smelled like perfume, like he'd just been in very close proximity to a woman. I know I'll recognize it if I smell it again."

"Perfect. Let's just visit all the suspects tomorrow and take a good whiff," Joe said.

Nancy gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. But that bastard better pray the cops get him before I do." Joe stood up abruptly. "Come on. I'll carry you up to bed."

"I can walk," Nancy told him, standing and folding up her blanket.

"I'll walk you up, then. And we're going really slow on those stairs."

"In that case, let me run to the bathroom first. You've been pouring liquids into me all day," Nancy mock-complained at him.

In the end he did carry her up, more because he lacked the patience to ascend slowly than because Nancy really needed the help. He set her down on her bed and she reached for him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to sit beside her.

"Nan," he protested.

"You could stay," she mumbled into his shoulder.

"I'm not sure your dad would like that," Joe said gently. But he lifted her into his lap and held her close, enclosing her in his warmth and strength.

"Are you okay, baby?"

"I'm just tired," she told him.

"Then let me tuck you in."

She shook her head. "In a while. This is nice."

"Okay. Just a few minutes, though." They were quiet for a few minutes. Joe was stroking Nancy's hair, and Nancy was almost starting to drift off.

"Do you remember that summer when we were fourteen and we all believed that my barn was haunted?" Joe said suddenly.

Nancy smiled against the curve of his neck. "Yeah. That was a fun summer."

"We can talk ourselves into believing some pretty dumb stuff, can't we."

She craned her neck to look into his face. "What are you getting at, Joe?"

"I realized, the other day, that one of the things I had reasoned myself into believing was totally stupid. And I know you don't feel the same, and I know it might make you take off, but I need to say this. Damn it, Nancy, I do want to marry you."

"What?" Nancy exclaimed, sitting up to look at him. She felt every bruise, scrape, and stitch in her body protest the sudden movement.

"I'm not proposing!" he said hastily. "I'm just saying, what I said to you at the diner hasn't been sitting right with me. I didn't know my feelings had changed until I told you I wasn't ready to make a commitment."

Nancy closed her eyes. Be vulnerable, Hannah had advised. Well, she would give it her best shot. "I feel the same way," she said softly.

"You do? This isn't the pain meds talking, is it?"

"They wore off hours ago," Nancy said, frowning at him. "It's the truth. Ask Hannah."

"I believe you." He laughed suddenly and shook his head. "We're awesome detectives. We can't even figure out our own feelings."

"Too close for perspective," Nancy said, letting her head drop back to his broad shoulder. "Is this why you've been acting so weird?"

"Me? I've been weird?"

"Joseph. You practically dressed me like a doll this morning."

"What's so strange about that?" he demanded, laughing again, and Nancy cupped his jaw to draw him in for a kiss.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Joe pulled back slightly. "This doesn't mean we're letting people pressure us. They can keep throwing rings at us till the cows come home. We'll get there when it feels right."

Nancy smiled up at him. "That works for me. I did what I said about not barging into things."

Joe kissed her again, nipping gently at her lower lip. "I'm not barging anywhere. In a way, I've been waiting a long time for this."

"Is that so?"

"I fell for you the day we met. You know that."

"The day we met you flirted with Bess, stole my gum, and told me girls couldn't be detectives," Nancy reminded him.

"I was trying to look cool. Ten-year-old Joe was a bit of a knucklehead."

"Funny how much things don't change," Nancy said, her eyes sparkling.

"Wow. That stings, Drew," Joe drawled at her, raising an eyebrow. "May I remind you that you are now dating that knucklehead? What does that say about you?"

"Nothing good, I imagine."

"I've got to know. Did I impress you even a little bit back then?"

"As George so helpfully reminded me today, I did have a crush on you for awhile. So did Bess, by the way."

"And now here we are," Joe said, looking pleased.

"Here we are," Nancy agreed. "We sort of took the scenic route to get here, though."

"If we had gotten together back then the whole thing would have blown up in our faces," Joe said confidently. "I was much more hot-headed, and you were one double dog dare away from walking into the wrong place at the wrong time and getting yourself killed. I know our line of work is all about learning as you go, but I'm amazed we all made it through some of those stunts we pulled."

"Would you change it?"

"Not one damn day." He paused, frowning slightly. "Well. Maybe one or two damn days. Things could have gone better."

"I'm sorry, Joe."

He shook his head. "At this point I'm sadder for her than for me. She was too young. She's missing out on so many awesome things. It's not fair. But we really don't have to talk about her."

"She's part of your life, Joe, and I don't resent the time you spent with her. I have my own history." Nancy hesitated. "Do you resent Ned?"

"Not really. Ned's a good guy. We're still friends."

Nancy was yawning. Joe gently slid Nancy off his lap and pulled her blankets over her. He knelt beside the bed to look her in the eyes, fumbling under the quilt until he found her hand to hold.

"I want to tell you a bedtime story," he said quietly. Nancy pressed his fingers, encouraging him to go on. "It's about a lonely guy who was driving to town in a storm to pick up some ice cream, and a girl whose car had broken down in the storm."

Nancy smiled. "That's not very story-book-like. Call it a knight and a princess."

"Okay. Well, this princess didn't need rescuing, but the knight did, so he asked her to hop up on his steed and accompany him to his castle. And she did, which was awesome, because he expected her to royally decline." Joe looked at her, as if gauging how close to sleep she was. Her eyes were still open, so he continued.

"So this princess went home with the knight, and she borrowed some cloth- some raiment, because her own raiment was soaked. The knight ate ice cream and the princess drank coffee and they talked for hours. And the knight- the knight was so nervous, Nan, because he had known this princess since she was a child, and had loved her, deep down in his heart, through all his perils and misadventures and amorous pursuits. But then the princess kissed him-" Joe broke off. Nancy was smiling at him, a smile of pure love without a hint of mockery. He leaned in and kissed her.

"You asked about our first night. You wondered if it meant something," he said.

"Were you really nervous?"

"You have no idea. I was a mess. I hadn't seen you in a year and I didn't want to mess up our friendship, but I wanted you so badly, and then you kissed me, and I was just gone."

"It felt right. It felt like- like when you're picking a lock, and it's resisting, and then suddenly there's that little _click_ and the whole door swings open," Nancy told him.

"Just when I think she can't get any more perfect," Joe said, laughing. "I know what you mean, Nan. Now I'm going to stop telling you sappy stories and let you get some rest."

"Are you going home?"

"No. I'm going to sleep on the couch," he told her. "With one eye open," he amended. "I don't know if that bastard plans to come after you again, but he'll do it over my dead body."

"Don't let it come to that," Nancy said, shivering at the ice in his voice. "Please get some sleep. We have a really good alarm system."

"Don't you worry about me. I'll see you in the morning, Drew."

It was just past midnight when Hannah Gruen, shuffling slipper-shod toward the kitchen for a glass of water, discovered Joe Hardy sleeping curled up on the couch like a watchdog. The young man had pulled his coat over himself for warmth. Even in sleep his face seemed to be wearing a determined scowl. Hannah looked at him for a moment, a surge of grateful affection bringing tears to her eyes. He had obviously stayed to watch over Nancy, forsaking the comfort of his own bed and the discourtesy of Nancy's. A moment more, and Hannah's mind was made up. She bent close to the sleeping figure, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

"Joe," she whispered. "Joey."

He sat up immediately, and there was a hunting knife in his hand a split second later. Hannah bit back a squeak of surprise.

"It's Hannah!" she whispered.

He lowered his weapon. "Is something wrong? I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Nothing's wrong," Hannah assured him. She reached for his coat, which had slid to the floor when he sat up, and tossed it onto her armchair. "Go to her, Joe. It's all right. Thank you for taking care of our girl."

He rose, kissed her cheek wordlessly, and disappeared up the stairs into the dark.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Closing In

"Nancy."

With her eyes still firmly closed, the young woman shook her head. "Nancy's not home," she mumbled, hoping whoever it was would go away. They didn't. The mattress dipped as somebody sat down on the edge of the bed, and a gentle hand reached over to brush the tangle of titian hair off her face.

"I hate you wake you, sweetie, but you need to eat and drink. I brought up a tray."

"Oh, it's you," Nancy said blearily, finally awake enough to identify Hannah's voice. She rolled onto her side, groaning when the movement awoke every outraged muscle in her body, and forced her eyes open. Hannah was smiling down at her, her kind face haloed in bright sunlight.

"How late is it?"

"It's a few minutes past 10," Hannah said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a rodeo clown who didn't run fast enough." Nancy eased herself gingerly to a sitting position against her headboard.

"The second day is always worse," Hannah said sympathetically. "Are you lightheaded?"

"Not really. I've always recovered fast from giving blood."

"I wish you'd stop comparing this to a blood drive," Hannah scolded. "You need to take what happened seriously."

"I am taking it seriously. I'm seriously going to catch the guy."

Hannah sighed. "My stubborn girl. All right." She stood. "I'm going downstairs to finish my morning chores. You eat up your breakfast, and then we'll see about getting you a nice hot shower to loosen up those muscles."

"That does sound good." Nancy made an exploratory circle with her head, feeling the tightness in her neck and shoulder muscles. It wasn't the worst she had ever felt, but it was still not great.

The housekeeper paused in the doorway. "Oh, I almost forgot. Joe left a few hours ago, but he said to tell you he'd be back around noon."

A hazy memory began to surface. "Was he here, last night?"

Hannah nodded. "I found him asleep on the couch and sent him up."

"So I wasn't imagining that." Nancy flexed her fingers. They were a little stiff, but they all worked. "Was I also not imagining Dad poking his head in to say goodbye earlier? I'm not sure I gave him a coherent response."

"He left to pick Camille up at 5:30. He said you were pretty out of it." Hannah smiled. "Enough chatter, Nan. Eat up."

"Thanks, Hannah. You're a treasure."

"Oh, I know it," Hannah called over her shoulder.

Left alone, Nancy ate as much as she could of Hannah's big breakfast. By the time she was done, her head had stopped pounding and her body was beginning to feel like her own again. She slid carefully out of bed and allowed herself one longing look at the shower before pulling on a robe and slippers, brushing her teeth, and combing her hair. There was no time to waste pampering herself with hot water, no matter how good it would feel. The day was practically half over, and Nancy's sense of urgency was rising. Grabbing her breakfast tray, she headed downstairs.

"Nancy Drew, you stay right where you are," Hannah called from below. She hurried up and put a hand lightly under Nancy's elbow as if leading a blind person.

"Hannah, I'm all right," Nancy assured her.

"It's just a precaution," Hannah said. "Nobody is falling down these stairs on my watch. Now you come on into the living room. I set up a little nest for you." She led Nancy straight to the couch. Nancy was beginning to dislike that couch.

"I feel much better," she protested, knowing her words were futile.

"I don't care if you feel up to dancing a jig," Hannah said. "You're going to rest today. Pretend you're Hercule Poirot and put your brain to work instead of rushing all over town, getting into altercations with masked men."

"I don't get into altercations every-" Nancy started, and stopped herself. Arguing, she knew from long experience, would get her nowhere. And she also knew, however much she might like to deny it, that pushing herself too soon would only lengthen her recovery time. "Okay. Fine. I'll employ the little grey cells."

"Good girl. Now sit, and please let me know if you need anything."

Nancy looked around. Hannah had set up a very well-appointed "little nest." Close to hand were a large glass of water, a basket of snacks, her notebook, her phone and charger, and her laptop. "Thanks, Hannah. I can't imagine what else I could need."

Once left alone, Nancy's first task was to turn on her phone and deal with the flood of messages which had arrived since the previous afternoon. It seemed as though everyone she had ever met had had something to say about her encounter. Even Bess had interrupted her vacation to launch a series of messages both berating Nancy for getting herself hurt and expressing concern for her.

Nancy fired off a quick text- not to Bess, but to the vociferous blonde's cousin. _George, you rat._

 _You're alive!_ George sent back, following it up with _What'd I do now?_

 _Told Bess._

Nancy's phone rang: George, getting impatient with spelling out the conversation. "Nan!" she said. "You know I had to tell her. She's family. She could make my holidays miserable for the next ten years if she found out I kept that from her."

"Fair enough."

"Are you doing all right? Need me to do anything?"

"I think I'm okay, George. Thanks, though."

"I figured between Hannah and Joe you'd be covered." George shifted the phone to her other ear. Nancy could hear the faint shuffling sound. "So. Since you're okay, I guess I can bitch at you a little. I was going to ask you to watch Myra for me tomorrow, and now I have to find a different victim."

Nancy laughed. "I'm sorry my attempted murder inconvenienced you."

"It's not just this time, Drew. Don't think I haven't noticed how often you seem to get these convenient injuries. Is your whole life a lie fabricated to help you avoid helping others?"

"You figured it out, George. I confess."

George dropped her flippant tone. "Seriously, I'm glad you're okay."

"I owe it all to you and your years of self defense training." Nancy paused. "Actually," she said thoughtfully, "I don't see why I can't babysit tomorrow. What time?"

"Aw, no. No way. I was just giving you a hard time."

"I'm serious," Nancy said. "Myra's a good kid. Drop her off and we can watch cartoons together for a few hours if that's all I'm up for."

"It's tomorrow night. I have a date with Regan," George said reluctantly. "I can cancel. He'll understand."

"George, no! You guys never get to see each other. I can definitely handle an evening with Myra."

"Nance, I owe you a big one."

"Since when do we keep score?"

"I know." George shifted her phone again. "Hey, how's the case going?"

Nancy filled George in on their progress and their plan for trapping the murderer. "Do you think Kate will mind being impersonated?"she concluded.

"I doubt it. Kate's cool. But I'll give her a heads up."

Nancy had been idly browsing "The Homefront" during their conversation, noticing that activity on Keith's account had all but stopped, while Chet's account had been very busy. _Good old reliable Chet._  
"Thanks, George. Do you think she- " Nancy broke off suddenly. A message icon had just popped up on her screen. "Hey, George, I've got to go. I just got a message from a suspect!"

"Sweet! All right. See you tomorrow, then."

"I'll be here," Nancy confirmed. She set her phone aside and eagerly clicked on the new message.

 _From: gargoylegrinning_  
 _To: NJPI_

 _Hi. Regarding your message, I'm not comfortable discussing real-life matters over the internet._  
 _Regards,_  
 _gargoylegrinning_

"Dammit," Nancy breathed, fingers fumbling over each other in her haste to send a reply message before gargoylegrinning went offline.

 _From: NJPI_  
 _To: gargoylegrinning_

 _I appreciate your discretion. I am a private investigator looking into Brendan Connolly's murder- kidanachronism on this site. It would be a big help if you would answer my questions._

 _Nancy_

 _From: gargoylegrinning_  
 _To: NJPI_

 _With all due respect- no, thank you. If you contact me again, I will report you._

Nancy swore softly. She paused, thought hard, and rattled off one last message: her full name, web site, and personal phone number. As an afterthought she added "I promise I'm not a scam. Google me," and hit send.

Several minutes ticked by. Nancy fidgeted impatiently. The instant her phone rang, she pounced on it.

"Nancy Drew speaking."

The voice on the other end was crisp and businesslike. "This is Sandra Ramirez. We were just...conversing."

"Are you gargoylegrinning?"

"In my free time." There was a hint of a smile in the voice now. Nancy smiled back.

"Thanks for giving me a chance. I appreciate this."

"I decided to call your bluff. Google says you're real." Sandra paused. "Is Brendan...is he really dead?"

"I'm afraid so."

Another pause. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Did you know Brendan personally?"

"I taught at River Heights Community College for several years before moving away. Brendan took one of my freshman level history courses and we connected over our mutual interest in the 1940s." Sandra sighed. "May I ask how you came to contact me?"

"We found your username jotted on a scrap of paper at the crime scene," Nancy said. "Brendan had written 'Talk to gargoylegrinning.' It was probably the last thing he did."

"Oh...oh, good heavens. Talk to me about what?"

"We assume about an artifact he had recently discovered."

"Don't tell me he found the mythical family treasure!" Sandra said, sounding very taken aback.

"It would appear that he did. You knew about that?"

"Yes. He confided in me. What...what was it?"

"A set of paintings. That's all the intel I have on it. They were stolen when he was murdered."

"That poor boy," the professor murmured. "He didn't deserve that. Oh, the poor boy."

"If he had lived to talk to you, what's your best guess as to what it would have been about?"

"The paintings," Sandra said immediately. "He would have wondered what their historical significance was, and possibly their monetary value. This treasure hunt of his was supposed to end in...well, metaphorically, a good-sized pot of gold. His great-something grandfather, I think, had hidden it as a sort of rainy day fund for his wife in the event he did not return from the war."

"You seem to have been very close with him," Nancy remarked, keeping her voice neutral.

"He looked up to me as...as an advisor. That's all the relationship was. Not that it would be any of your business, had it been otherwise."

"Ma'am, I did not suggest it had been."

"It's...it's a sensitive thing, student-teacher relations. In this day and age, anyhow," Sandra said wearily.

"I understand."

"There is one other thing."

"What's that?"

"Brendan was always a bit nervous that the other half of his family was after the inheritance. There was a story about desertion, and a second branch of the family..."

"I'm familiar with it," Nancy assured her.

"I thought it was paranoia. Now...well..."

"I don't think his instinct was too far off."

"Is...is that who killed him? His own family?"

"That's how things seem to be shaping up," Nancy told her.

"That's horrible." Sandra's voice wavered for a moment before she pulled herself together. "I wish you the best of luck in tracking down whoever did this."

"Thank you so much for your time. Please call me anytime if you think of something relevant, or if you discover any new information."

"I certainly will do so," Sandra said.

"Well, that takes care of the convenient internet stranger. The family motive is looking stronger all the time," Nancy muttered to herself as she once more set her phone aside. Thinking better of it, she reached for the charger Hannah had plugged in and clicked it into place.

"Then there's still Keith," she reminded herself. She couldn't seem to get him eliminated from suspicion. He'd had a front-row seat to Brendan's family drama, or at least Brendan's suspicions of family drama, and could easily have stepped in and taken the opportunity for himself. But then, that didn't fit her theory that the man in the case was working for someone, possibly a woman. She couldn't help thinking of Diarmid and Allie. If only she had anything, any shred of evidence, connecting Allie with the Connolly family!

Nancy gave herself over to research and pondering, not even noticing the passage of time. She was so lost in thought that when Hannah called her for lunch, she jumped.

"Welcome back to earth, Drew," Joe said.

"How long have you been standing there?" Nancy asked, frowning at him.

Her boyfriend, who had been leaning casually against the door frame, uncrossed his arms and grinned at her. "A few seconds. I just have really good timing."

"Is that you, Joe? Come have some lunch!" Hannah called from the kitchen.

"Yes, ma'am!" Joe called back automatically; but his eyes were on Nancy. He crossed the living room to give her a kiss.

"You look-"

Nancy looked at him inquisitively. "Yes?"

"Sorry. My foot-in-mouth proximity alert went off."

"How do I look, Joseph?" Nancy demanded, laughing.

"As radiant as the sunrise," he said gallantly, folding her blanket for her while she stacked her notebook and pen on top of her computer.

"And about as colorful?" Nancy added.

"Hey, I didn't say it."

"It's okay. I did look in a mirror today."

Joe shrugged. "All right, then I'll say it. That bruise on your face is kind of spectacular."

"Let's go back to the extravagant flattery," Nancy said. "I liked that."

"All right, my many-hued maiden. Shall we adjourn to the kitchen?" Joe said, offering Nancy his arm.

"Many-hued maiden? Seriously?"

"Would you rather I called you my black-and-blue beloved?"

"That's it. You'd better get in the kitchen before I make you black-and-blue!" Nancy threatened, curling her fingers into a loose fist. Joe dodged nimbly into the kitchen ahead of her and ducked behind Hannah.

"What on earth are you kids doing?" the housekeeper exclaimed.

"Nancy's picking on me," Joe said. "Can I have a cookie?"

Hannah grabbed him by the arm and gave him a gentle push toward the kitchen table. "I suppose Nancy's going to tell me you started it," she said.

"Well, he did," Nancy said, sticking her tongue out at Joe.

"And here I was thinking we'd all outgrown this stage," Hannah grumbled, setting a stack of plates on the table. Joe jumped up to get silverware for everyone.

"Sorry, Hannah," he said contritely.

"You're just buttering me up so I give you that cookie. I know your game, Joe Hardy," Hannah scolded, her eyes twinkling.

"Aw, shucks," Joe said, sliding back into his seat.

"Help yourselves, children. We don't stand on formality at lunchtime," Hannah said, gesturing toward the casserole dish in the center of the table. "I'll get us some drinks."

"I'm sorry I slept through you leaving this morning," Nancy told Joe as he dished up helpings of Hannah's baked ziti.

"I was hoping you would. You needed the rest."

Hannah returned with glasses and a pitcher of water. "I apologize about this morning, Joe. I should have warned Carson I sent you upstairs."

Nancy's eyes widened. "Was Dad angry?"

"He didn't go for a shotgun or anything, but he definitely used a few words I didn't think he knew," Joe said, looking amused.

"Oh, no!" Nancy groaned.

"It wasn't as bad as that. He was a little taken aback, that's all," Hannah interjected. "I explained matters to him. No guest of ours is sleeping on the furniture while I'm still in charge around here."

"He calmed down pretty fast. I think he stopped being outraged about his daughter's honor when he noticed I'd been sleeping with my jeans on." Joe shrugged. He was clearly unfazed by the experience.

"Well, that's unpleasant," Nancy said.

"By the time he and Camille get back, he won't even remember it," Hannah assured her. "On a different note, have you managed to find any of those Cherry Bakewells?"

"No," Nancy said. "But not for lack of trying. Have you?"

"No. I even called a few friends and asked them to keep an eye out."

"We'll find some, Hannah. Don't worry."

"I certainly hope so, dear," Hannah said, though she didn't sound convinced. "This is my last Thanksgiving here as your full-time housekeeper, you know, and I wanted it to be perfect."

"But you'll be here for more Thanksgivings!" Nancy said immediately. "Don't you start talking like you're moving across the world."

"I know, dear, but it's going to be a little different. I won't necessarily be doing all the cooking. Maybe you'll even have your own home next year and will want to start hosting the holiday."

Nancy narrowed her eyes at Hannah, who looked back at her with an expression much too innocent to be believed. Nancy shook her head. "I doubt that," she said lightly.

Fortunately, Joe didn't seem to have picked up on Hannah's insinuation. "This is delicious, Hannah," he said.

"Save room for dessert," Hannah told him. "I made biscotti."

"Chocolate biscotti?" Nancy asked hopefully.

"Just for you," Hannah said.

A little while later, a very well-fed team of detectives returned to what Nancy was beginning to think of as the inevitable couch. Joe grabbed Nancy's notebook and flipped through it, refreshing the facts of the case in his memory.

"Still a jumble," he complained.

"Where did you go this morning?" Nancy asked.

"I did a bit of flirting with the clerk at the post office," Joe said, handing her notebook back. "Irene. Nice lady. Has two boys in high school and likes geraniums."

"That's all very fascinating," Nancy said dryly. "Did you get her number?"

"Don't be jealous, Drew." Joe waited for her to finish rolling her eyes and continued. "According to Irene, the PO box we're interested in was rented out a few months ago to a college kid."

"Brendan?"

"I don't think so. From her description, it sounded more like Keith."

"This is the most irritating case. I was pretty sure I'd just eliminated him." Nancy filled Joe in on her conversation with Sandra.

"Yeah, that doesn't add up. Unless Faith hired Keith to steal the heirloom," Joe pointed out.

"Then why would she go out of her way to bring us into this?"

Joe shrugged. "I've seen it before. The criminal underworld is full of cocky sons-of-bitches."

"Maybe in an Agatha Christie novel," Nancy scoffed, reaching for an afghan to pull over her chilly feet.

"Allie and Diarmid are still not answering my calls," Joe went on. "It's not looking good for any of these people. Maybe it's one massive conspiracy."

"What does your gut say?"

"Nada," Joe said glumly. "Well, right now it's saying Hannah's ziti was delicious."

"That gets us nowhere."

"At least we're not hungry and stuck. We can work with being well-fed and stuck. What about your instincts?"

"At the risk of sounding jealous again, my money is on Allie," Nancy said slowly. "The Hawaii thing is too big of a coincidence, and Diarmid definitely has a short fuse." She ticked their other suspects off on her fingers. "Faith wouldn't have called us in if she were guilty. Maggie is a longshot. Keith could have stolen the paintings any time from his own apartment; why follow Brendan to the library?"

"I don't like Diarmid for it. Killing his own brother?" Joe made a face. "That's a special kind of fucked up. Not to mention, that would make Diarmid and Allie some kind of cousins."

"I don't think that would bother him," Nancy said.

Joe leaned in, his face serious. "You know what I think? I think we'd better get our forged artifact scheme in motion, fast. I'd like to call Callie in a while and ask her if she's up for some painting."

"I agree," Nancy said fervently. "One other thing. I was poking around on the forum this morning and I managed to get into Brendan's account. He had one username blocked from contacting him."

"Do you think that's significant?" Joe asked. "I have some people blocked on Facebook, but all it means is I think they're obnoxious."

"Why not just unfriend them?" Nancy asked, distracted, for the moment, by the seemingly irrational arrangement.

"Because they're relatives, and I don't want to cause drama." Joe waved a hand dismissively. "Not important. Who does Brendan have blocked?"

"The profile has its location set to Hawaii," she said. "I couldn't dig up their past interactions, but maybe you can."

"Yeah, let me give it a try," Joe said, pulling the laptop toward himself.

"I'm going to give Faith a call while you do that. I'd like to ask her if she knows anything about Allie."

The conversation was brief and unsatisfying. Joe glanced over, raising an eyebrow, when he heard her put the phone down. Nancy shook her head.

"She's hiding something. She's acting very strange."

"It's too soon to say I told you so, but...I told you so."

"Too soon, Hardy. Shut your smug mouth."

"What would you rather have me do with my mouth?" Joe leaned closer, planting his palms on either side of Nancy, and captured her lips with a demanding kiss. Despite her aching muscles, Nancy found herself responding, kissing him back with equal urgency and wrapping her arms around him to pull him closer.

Joe pulled away first. "We can't," he said.

"Hannah left to run some errands," Nancy said, tracing his lips gently with her fingertip. "Come upstairs."

He caught her wandering finger gently between his teeth and brushed it with his tongue before releasing it. "Nan, don't tempt me."

Nancy pressed another finger to his lips to be kissed. "Says the guy who just asked me what I'd like him to do with his mouth."

"I know. I thought we could make out a little without wanting more." He caught her hand with his own and gently turned it so he could kiss her palm.

"We can take it slow."

Joe's gaze drifted across her face, skimming over the bruises on her cheekbone and chin, and Nancy knew he was visualizing all the other bruises her clothing hid from view. "You have brand new stitches, babe, and lying very still on your back has never been your strong suit. Let's wait a few days."

Nancy laughed despite her disappointment. "You're right."

"Just like I was right about Faith?"

"Bastard." Nancy dragged him down for one last kiss, nipping at his lower lip to make him fight back; and it was at that moment that Frank and Callie walked in.

"Do you two ever do any actual work?" Frank demanded, seating himself in Hannah's chair.

"Kissing stimulates the brain cells," Joe retorted.

"I doubt that very much," Frank said dryly.

Callie, who had lingered in the entryway to take off her boots, now came across the room to wedge herself onto the couch between Joe and Nancy. "Hi, lovebirds," she said, ruffling Joe's hair and wrapping Nancy in a careful hug. "Honey, you look so much better than you did last time I saw you."

"That's not saying much, considering last time you saw me I was bleeding and covered in mud," Nancy joked.

"It's not funny!" Callie told her. "I will never understand detectives. There's something misfiring in your brains."

"I'm sorry, Cal. And thank you again. The nurse told me you probably saved me from needing a transfusion, or worse. You were definitely my guardian angel yesterday."

"Some angel," Callie scoffed. "Instead of an ethereal being with wings and a halo, you got a bloated, panicking mortal with vomit in her hair."

"Okay, so you were a little more nauseated than the average angel." Nancy smiled at her friend. "You were still fantastic."

"What brings you two out here?" Joe asked.

"Checking on Nancy," Frank said.

"There's this wonderful contraption that Mr. Bell invented," Joe began, teasingly, but Frank cut him off.

"I didn't forget about the phone. Callie wanted to see her in person. We were in River Heights anyway to go to the Home Depot."

"Crap. Don't tell me the sink is leaking again," Joe groaned.

"No, we were just picking up some paint for the new house," Callie reassured him. "We want to get started redecorating as soon as we move in."

"Do you have a move-in date?" Nancy asked.

"The first weekend in December," Callie said.

Joe whistled. "That's really soon!"

"It's a good thing. We'll be able to get all the moving chaos out of the way before the wedding and the baby get much closer," Frank said.

"Speaking of chaos," Joe started, and Frank groaned.

"I know. The garage."

"I am not looking forward to trying to decide how to divide up all those tools," Joe said darkly. "What's the garage like at your new place?"

"Not bad. Bigger than the one at the apartment, and we don't have to share it with any other tenants." The Hardys' apartment was one of three apartments which had been created by dividing up a large old house. They had chosen it largely because unlike apartment buildings, it offered garage space for them to store and use their tools; but sharing the space with a very disorganized neighbor had been a source of irritation for years.

"What if we just move all our stuff over there?" Joe said.

"Even your motorcycle parts?" Frank asked.

As the brothers launched into a discussion on the ideal storage space for Joe's work-in-progress, Nancy turned to Callie.

"How are you doing? And I mean you, not your passenger."

Callie smiled. "Nobody asks that. How did you know?"

"I remember Bess complaining about it. As soon as people find out you're pregnant, it's like the baby is the only thing they care about. So I always make a point of seeing the woman behind the baby."

"Nancy, you are a beautiful person. If I weren't an engaged woman I think I might kiss you." Callie winked. "I'm feeling...we'll say, tentatively really good. Do you remember the other night, when Mrs. Hardy offered to meet with my parents?"

Nancy nodded. "I'm guessing she did it?"

"They all had dinner together last night. My mom called me afterward, crying, and asked me to forgive them. I have no idea what the Hardys said to them and I don't even care. I'm so relieved."

"Cal, that's wonderful!" Nancy grinned. "I don't think I would stand my ground, either, if Fenton Hardy started telling me I'd done wrong. The man is authority incarnate."

Callie shrugged. "It's a gift horse and I'm not looking it in the mouth. I'm just glad Weatherby is going to have both sets of grandparents."

"Weatherby?" Nancy repeated.

Callie's cheeks turned pink. "It's just a silly name we've been calling the baby."

Frank looked over from his own conversation. "Because we don't know _whether_ it will _be_ a girl or a boy."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Your first dad joke!"

"I think it's cute," Nancy said.

"Thank you," Callie told her. "Anyway, as I was saying, he or she will have both sets of grandparents in his or her life, and I'm really relieved."

"And they're coming to the wedding?"

"They're coming to the wedding." Callie sighed. "Mom is going to nitpick and insinuate that I'm a whore and make me wish we'd eloped, but somehow that's better than having her not show up at all."

"Speaking of the wedding," Nancy said, "I'm being such a crappy maid of honor. You messaged me about getting together to try on bridesmaid dresses almost two weeks ago and I still haven't gotten back to you about it."

"Don't even worry about that. We have plenty of time. What if I feel out everyone's schedule and plan something for next month? I know you have no way of knowing what you'll be doing then, but if we have a date we can start working around it."

"That sounds good. I'm really sorry, Cal."

"I didn't ask you to be in the wedding to make you do my work for me," Callie said. "I just want you standing up with us. If you keep apologizing at me I'll make you wear a dress straight out of the 80s."

"Hey, if that's what you want to see in all your wedding photos..." Nancy teased.

"Something like that might be modest enough to keep Aunt Gertrude from bitching about you all day," Joe pointed out.

"Callie, please let me wear a tube top and a mini skirt," Nancy said immediately.

"Only if I can wear my bikini. Nobody is supposed to outshine the bride," Callie said, straight-faced.

"I like the sound of this," Frank joked. "New wedding theme: pool party!"

"As best man, can I wear a Speedo and one of those inflatable tubes shaped like a dolphin?" Joe asked.

"And instead of walking back down the aisle, we all jump in the deep end and swim out," Nancy suggested.

"As awesome as this is, I think it's too late to change our venue," Callie said, giggling. "We'll totally write this all down and save it for you guys."

"No way. I don't want to make a jackass of myself at my own wedding," Joe declared.

"You make a jackass of yourself at any event with dancing and an open bar," Frank said.

"Unlike some people, I know how to have a good time," Joe shot back.

"Boys, boys," Callie said, laughing. "Truce. I'm going to give the bar staff instructions to keep refilling Frank's glass and to cut Joe off after three beers. Maybe that will balance everything out."

"I'm not drinking if you can't," Frank said seriously. Joe just pouted.

"Not cool. I know how to handle myself."

"Last time you did any serious drinking, you got naked and set off a bunch of firecrackers in Chet's garden," Nancy pointed out.

"Dammit, you guys, that was one time. Once!"

"Joseph," Frank said, "you're never going to live that one down. Deal with it."

Nancy turned back toward Callie. "On a more serious note, what about a dress for you? Have you done any more browsing?"

"A little, but I think I need to wait a few months before I buy anything. I have no idea what size I'm going to be."

"Can't you just estimate high and hope your seamstress is really good?"

"I guess that depends on the dress," Callie said, looking thoughtful. "But, I mean, it's not all going to be here." Her hand circled her abdomen. "It's here, too-" the hand floated up to circle in front of her chest. "I already had to buy a new bra. It's like PMS on steroids."

"On the bright side, as symptoms go, that one isn't too terrible," Nancy said sympathetically.

"No, not completely terrible," Callie agreed. Nancy's trained eye caught a faint blush rising on Frank's face.

"Are you going to find out what it is?" Nancy asked, changing the subject.

"Five bucks says it's an otter," Joe said immediately. Callie smacked him lightly upside the head.

"Don't be an ass," she told him. "We haven't decided yet," she said to Nancy. "We'll probably discuss that with the doctor when I see her." She sighed. "I need Bess to get her butt back here. I have so many questions about this whole thing, and I'm really nervous about this appointment."

"What's to be nervous about? Don't they just check your blood pressure and show you the baby on the screen?" Nancy asked vaguely, realizing after she'd begun speaking that she didn't know much about pregnancy checkups.

"I've been reading up on it, and everyone says it's a lot more thorough than that," Callie said. "Plus, from what I hear, if they do an ultrasound this early it might be transvaginal instead of-"

"Oh, hell no," Joe said, jumping up. "I love you, Callie, but I do not ever want to hear about anything south of your tonsils." And with that, he fled in the direction of the kitchen.

"Why on earth wouldn't he want to hear all about what happens at the gynecologist?" Callie asked, grinning.

Frank shrugged, his own lips tugging into an amused smile. "Beats me. It's not like it's an uncomfortable subject at all."

Callie waved a hand at him. "You can go, honey. You're coming to the appointments. I won't make you sit through girl talk about this stuff."

"Oh, thank God," Frank said, and he followed Joe's path out of the room.

"You don't have to talk about it, either, Nan," Callie said.

Like Frank, Nancy shrugged. "What's the big deal? We all have a body, so there's no point being ashamed of it. Besides, any shame I might once have felt has been desensitized by years of friendship with Bess."

"I wish I could be that cool with it. I really hate having doctors poke around down there." Callie sighed. "Enough about me. How are you, Nan?"

"I'm a little sore. And don't tell Hannah, but I got light-headed coming downstairs this morning," Nancy confessed.

"That's normal, right?"

"Absolutely. In another few days it'll be like nothing ever happened."

Callie pulled her legs up onto the couch and wrapped her arms around her knees. "Your job scares me so much, sometimes. All three of the people I love best in the world are out there every day with big targets painted on their backs."

"Oh, sweetie, it's not like that. Nine days out of ten we're doing the most boring, mundane stuff you can think of."

"But then that tenth day comes around." Callie shook her head. "I left Frank, once, because I couldn't take it. Did I ever tell you that?"

"What? When?"

"While we were in college," Callie said. "It only lasted a few months. I couldn't make myself stop loving him. I thought it would be easier, being away from him, but it wasn't."

"Holy shit," Nancy said, very shocked. "I can't imagine you two breaking up. You guys are like...you're like gravity. You're just part of how the world is."

"I appreciate your faith in us," Callie said. "What about you and Joe? How can you stand the constant risk?"

Nancy laughed ruefully. "We had a fight about that very thing last Sunday."

"Oh, honey. I'm sorry. I noticed you were a little off, but I was way too wrapped up in my own problems to even ask."

Nancy waved Callie's apology aside. "It's something we both struggle with. You just can't let yourself focus on it. What matters is that we're together, we're doing what we love to do, and we're living life on our own terms."

"I just couldn't believe it when he showed up yesterday and started joking with you while they were putting you in the ambulance. I couldn't understand why you wouldn't just tell him to meet you at the hospital. I think," Callie said slowly, "that I really underestimated you guys. You're not just playing around, are you." It wasn't a question. Nancy shook her head, not seeing any need to add to her friend's words.

"May I confess something?" Callie said tentatively. Nancy raised an eyebrow.

"Go ahead."

"Before yesterday, I was starting to feel a little defensive about Joe. He's my brother, Nan. I love him so much. And he really isn't as tough as he acts. I was starting to worry about how Frank and I would help him keep it together when you left him."

"Callie, I'm not going to hurt him!" Nancy said, horrified.

"I know that, now!" Callie said, reaching out to lay a hand on Nancy's arm. "I misinterpreted your relationship, and I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry I made you worry," Nancy replied.

There was a clatter of footsteps in the hall, and both Hardy brothers re-entered the room. Joe was holding a small gift bag.

"Heads up, Callie!" he said, tossing it to her. "I've been driving around with this in my truck for a couple days, and it's just not my style. You'd better take it."

"If it's one of those tuxedo t-shirts, I don't want it," Callie said, opening the bag.

"Nah, I'm saving that for Frank," Joe said.

Callie pulled the little romper out of the bag with fingers that trembled, suddenly. When she looked up, her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Oh, Joe," she said.

"Hey now. Don't do that," he scolded gently, sitting down to pull her into a hug.

Callie sniffed. "You're going to be such a good uncle," she said, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Then why are you crying?" he asked, patting her back a little helplessly.

"Just hold on to her for a couple minutes. It'll pass," Frank advised, with an air of experience.

"Thank you," Callie said, lifting her head to give Joe a kiss on the cheek. "It's adorable. Frank, did you see?"

"It's so small," he said, looking a bit wide-eyed as he examined the tiny garment.

"You've got to start somewhere," Joe said, releasing the now dry-eyed Callie. She got up and went to sit on Frank's lap, taking the romper back and holding it in her lap as though the soft grey fabric comforted her.

"Thanks," Frank said, meeting his brother's gaze over Callie's shoulder. "I'm sorry I gave you a hard time about the firecracker incident. You're a good guy."

"I'll try not to let it happen again," Joe said lightly. He scooted over and put an arm around Nancy, his fingers absently catching and toying with a lock of her hair.

"So," Frank said, his tone businesslike again. He always did like to get through emotional scenes quickly and get back on firm ground. "Is the case going well?"

Joe gestured with his free hand toward the paper-strewn coffee table. "As you can see, we're still in the process of tracking down all the loose ends."

"Do you have anything that looks strong?"

"We do have a cunning plan in the works," Joe said.

Nancy spoke up. "Do you remember a case I had- and this was years ago, so you might not- involving stone tablets with pictographs leading to the treasure?"

"I've always been so jealous of that one. It sounded really cool," Joe told her.

"I think I remember that," Frank said. "You forged a tablet to throw your suspect off the trail, didn't you?"

"That's right," Nancy said.

"Are you going back into the forgery business?" Frank asked, interested.

"Your fiancee is going into the forgery business," Joe answered. "If she's interested, that is."

Callie's eyes lit up. "Me? Really? What can I do to help?"

"We need a painting."

"I'm going to need more specific directions, Joey."

Joe looked at Nancy. "What are we thinking, here? Early American?"

"Does the country of origin matter?"

"Huh. I guess not."

Nancy looked at Callie. "We need something valuable, but not valuable enough to make headlines, and it can be from any time before...say, 1920?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah. Early 1900s at the latest."

"I already have a few names in mind. This is going to be so much fun!" Callie said eagerly. "We bought the wrong kind of paint today, Frank. I want to go home and start this thing right away."

"What are you going to do with this painting?" Frank asked curiously.

"We're going to post on this forum, pretending to be Kate- George's friend, whose property the stolen paintings were found on," Nancy explained. " 'Kate' is going to tell the world at large that she found a second cache."

"Then you wait for somebody to break into Kate's house?" Callie said. "That sounds dangerous."

"Yeah, that's too risky. Kate has a kid. So we'll make sure to say that we're keeping the painting in a safe deposit show until opening day of this exhibition...Callie, how would we go about setting up a small art exhibition as bait?" Joe asked.

"There's no way I can paint an exhibition's worth of convincing fakes." Callie looked slightly alarmed.

"We wouldn't ask you to try!" Nancy said hastily. "We just need one really good one. We'll fill in the rest of the space with whatever we can find."

"I wonder if Chet would lend us Iola's paintings," Joe mused.

"You can use some of mine," Callie offered. "They won't look like valuable art, though. You're not going to fool a knowledgeable art thief with them."

"I don't think these people are particularly well-versed in art," Nancy said.

"They're just after their heirloom," Joe explained.

"They?" Frank repeated.

"It's looking more and more like a team effort."

"You're going to need backup."

"Relax, Officer Hardy. Nancy and I don't make half-assed plans."

"Last I checked, you didn't make any kind of plan!" Frank said good-naturedly.

"What can I say? She's a good influence on me," Joe said. "Speaking of good influences, Nan, Sam Radley is in town. He wants to meet up with me and Frank for dinner. Is that okay?"

"Since when do you ask permission to have dinner?" Nancy asked, bewildered.

"I just don't want to ditch you while you're recovering."

"Oh. No, you go ahead. I'm fine, and Hannah will be back soon anyway. Callie, do you want to hang out here with us?"

"That sounds nice! As long as Hannah doesn't mind."

"What is Hannah going to mind?" the housekeeper, who had just let herself in the front door, called.

"Callie staying for dinner," Nancy called back.

"Callie, you're welcome here any time," Hannah said. "What can I fix for you?"

"Please don't go to any trouble for me," Callie said politely.

"Nonsense. Why don't you come on back to the kitchen with me and we can figure something out?"

"All right." Callie kissed Frank and slid off his lap. "Tell Sam hello from me."

"Will do. And I guess I'll just come back and pick you up after."

"Why don't we just leave her my truck?" Joe offered. "Saves us some coordinating."

"Thanks, Joe." Callie stepped over to give him a quick hug. "And thanks, so much, for the baby gift."

"Go on. Hannah's waiting," Joe said gruffly.

"If Callie takes your truck, am I running you back here after dinner?" Frank asked his brother.

Joe hesitated.

"I know that look," Nancy said. "He wants to go home and work on his motorcycle."

"You caught me," Joe said sheepishly. "But I don't want to leave you alone with that guy still at large."

"Dad had a really good alarm system put in. I'm pretty sure I'll be safe here." Nancy held his gaze for a moment. "Go home, put some music on, and get your hands greasy. You need some relaxation time. I promise I'll call you if I feel unsafe."

"You heard the girl," Frank said. "Plus, you can always come over here later if you change your mind."

Joe's face lost its guilty expression. "That is true. Okay. So I guess I'll call you tomorrow morning and we'll coordinate our plans for the day."

"Sounds good." Nancy walked the brothers to the door, pausing there to wrap her arms around Joe and tuck her head under his chin. "Have a good night," she told him.

Joe bent his head and and kissed her, drawing it out until suddenly they both became aware of Frank jingling his car keys in a meaningful way.

"Sorry, Frank!" Nancy said.

"Give me those." Joe reached out and snagged the keys from his brother. He turned back to Nancy and kissed her one more time. "Take care of yourself tonight. I love you."

"Love you, too," Nancy said softly, glancing at Frank and feeling herself blush a little. It was funny how much more intimate it felt to utter those three words than to embrace him in front of his brother. Frank, to his credit, was very studiously pretending he didn't hear anything.

The house seemed a lot quieter after the boys had gone. _I have got to stop calling them "the boys,"_ Nancy thought, smiling to herself.

Hannah and Callie were chatting companionably in the kitchen. Callie was sipping tea at the kitchen island, and Hannah was mixing up a bowl of batter.

"Nancy, it feels so quiet here with your father gone," she said as Nancy came in.

"I know. I was just thinking that," Nancy told her. "I keep checking my phone for a message from him. I wish I knew when he was going to propose."

"Probably not on their first night there," Hannah speculated. "I expect it'll be tomorrow."

Nancy took a seat next to Callie. "There's something annoying. Why is it okay for him to go away for the weekend with his girlfriend, but not for Joe to spend the night in my room?"

"Sheer parental protectiveness. It doesn't have to make sense," Hannah said. "What do you girls have planned for this evening?"

Callie and Nancy exchanged glances. "Browsing bridesmaid dresses?" Nancy said tentatively.

"Sure," Callie said.

"I have a little case work to wrap up for the day and then I'm all yours," Nancy promised.

"Perfect. I can start browsing paintings to forge while you do that!" Callie said happily.

"Did rope poor Callie into your shenanigans?" Hannah demanded from her place at the stove.

"I didn't. Joe did," Nancy said. "Hannah, can I help with that?"

"You can get out the butter and syrup," Hannah said, flipping a golden-brown pancake onto a platter. "Callie said pancakes sounded good."

"I had them last night, too. I don't know if it's too soon for this, but I seriously think this is my first craving."

Nancy set the butter and syrup on the island and went to the cabinet for some plates. "Weatherby has good taste, Cal. Hannah makes the best pancakes."

"Frank's were pretty good, too." Callie had her phone out and was scrolling through a gallery of artwork. "This is so exciting. I hope I have a canvas prepped already."

"What dubious scheme has Joe pulled you into?" Hannah asked, deftly pouring a new pool of batter onto her skillet.

"I get to forge a painting for them to use as bait," Callie said. "I get all the fun and none of the danger."

Nancy, who had pulled out her own phone to text Bess an update on the PO box situation, looked up. "Before you say anything, Hannah, let me assure you that the plan will not go into effect until I've healed up a little."

"Oh, a little healing," Hannah scoffed. "That's all you need." She wagged her pancake flipper at Nancy. "You'd better take every precaution you can think of, and then some, missy."

"Yes, ma'am," Nancy said meekly.

The evening progressed in a comfortable, friendly way. After dinner was done and the girls had washed the dishes they curled up in the living room, sometimes talking and sometimes working on their own projects. Nancy had just raised her head to say something to Callie, to express her contentment with their easy companionship, when the doorbell rang.

"Heavens!" said Hannah, dropping her knitting. "Who can that be?"

"Don't open it," Nancy warned.

"I know that. After all these years I'd be a ninny not to know that," Hannah muttered, peeking through the peephole. She looked back at the girls. "It's a young woman. She looks unhappy."

Callie grabbed Nancy's arm. "It could be a trap."

"Let me look." Nancy popped up on tiptoe to put her eye to the peephole, ignoring the stab of pain in her bandaged side. "It's Faith!"

"Are you going to let her in?" Callie asked.

"I'm going to risk it." Nancy undid the bolt as she spoke. "Faith?" she called, opening the door just enough for the girl to slip inside. "Come in."

Silently, Faith let herself be ushered into the living room; she refused the chair Nancy offered her, but stood miserably in the middle of the room, twisting her scarf in her hands.

"What's wrong?" Nancy asked gently.

"Is it true that someone tried to kill you?" Faith asked. Fresh tears traced a shining path down her face. Hannah handed her a tissue and she accepted it automatically, clenching it in one trembling fist.

"Do you know anything about who was responsible?" Nancy asked.

Faith sobbed.

"Faith, please. If you know anything, anything at all-"

"I lied!" Faith blurted.

Nancy's eyes widened. "What did you lie about?"

"About not knowing anything relevant." Faith stumbled forward and dropped into a vacant chair, her eyes fixed on Nancy's face. "I do know something, and it might have gotten you killed, and I'm so sorry. I came as soon as I heard."

"Please tell me," Nancy said, struggling to keep the impatience out of her tone.

Faith took a deep breath. "I hid some papers from you, the first time I took you to Bren's apartment," she confessed. "It was the paperwork my brother had drawn up, detailing a loan he had made to Keith."

"Keith owed your brother money?" Nancy leaned forward, her eagerness bleeding through despite her efforts to stay calm. "Was it a substantial amount?"

Faith named a sum that made Callie's eyebrows leap upward.

"But Keith wouldn't have hurt Brendan!" Faith continued, her voice rising hysterically. "Why would he do that? They were friends. Keith just wouldn't, he wouldn't kill anyone..." Her voice trailed off and she buried her face in her tissue, her thin shoulders shaking with repressed sobs.

"Faith," Nancy said firmly, "you did the right thing by telling me. Keith isn't going to be in any trouble as long as he didn't commit the crime."

"Are you going to arrest me?" Faith asked, scrubbing at her cheeks with her very ragged tissue. Hannah silently handed her a fresh one.

"No, I'm not going to arrest you." Nancy thought for a minute. "Do you happen to know where Keith was yesterday afternoon, around two o'clock?"

"No. Is that- is that when you got attacked?"

Nancy nodded. "I'll check up on him in the morning. Maybe he has an alibi."

Faith sniffed. "I j-just wanted to protect him."

"You didn't believe he was capable of harming anyone," Nancy said, nodding. "What made you change your mind?"

"I s-saw it. The bayonet." Faith gulped. "The one, the one they k-killed Bren with. Keith has it under his bed."

"Why were you looking under Keith's bed?" Nancy asked.

"I wasn't exactly looking." A slow flush crept up Faith's neck. "I was, I mean, we were, um, together. We had dinner, and we went back to his room, and-"

"I think I get the picture," Nancy said, having mercy on the girl. "Did you notify the police?"

"No! I came straight here."

"Okay. The first thing you need to do is call the police. Did the officer in charge of the investigation leave you his cell number?"

Faith nodded.

"Call him," Nancy urged. "This is a valuable lead. And I promise, Faith, if Keith is innocent- if he's being framed, or if it's not the same bayonet- he's not going to be in trouble. We are going to solve this, and we're going to solve it right."

"Thank you." Faith took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm sorry, Nancy. I shouldn't have held back information."

"Thank you for coming clean," Nancy told her. She stood and held out a hand to the younger woman. "Come on. I'll walk you out. Do you feel safe going back to your place tonight?"

"I'll crash at my friend Megan's place."

"All right. I'll have my phone on all night. Call me anytime if you need me," Nancy said.

"That was intense," Callie remarked as Nancy returned to the couch. "And it looks like you won't be needing my help after all."

"You know that line about not counting your chickens till they're hatched?" Nancy retorted. "It's not over yet, Cal. You may still get to paint your masterpiece." She reached for her phone. Joe needed to know what had just happened.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen: Interview

The interior walls of the River Heights police station were painted an orange-y beige color which was unpleasant under the best circumstances. At seven o'clock on a Saturday morning, with a tension headache already pressing at the back of Nancy's eyes, the hue was positively nauseating. The young detective closed her eyes briefly against the fluorescent light and took a gulp of coffee from her travel mug, hoping the caffeine would soothe her headache. When she opened them, she saw a familiar figure rounding the corner in her direction.

"Chief McGinnis!" Nancy said, her mood lifting.

Police Chief McGinnis pretended to hide behind the file folder he was carrying and ducked nimbly into his office.

"Nice try, Chief!" Nancy called, smiling.

The chief poked his head back out into the hallway. "I should've known I couldn't move fast enough to escape the eagle eye of Miss Nancy Drew. What brings you down here on a Saturday morning?"

"I could ask the same of you," Nancy said, stepping into his office.

"Oh, I'm not here. Not officially, anyway. I just stopped by to put my John Hancock on a few documents, and then I'm free to do whatever my wife tells me to do for the rest of the weekend," he joked. Having pulled out a chair for his visitor, the chief settled himself at his desk and reached for his coffee mug.

"Can I get you a coffee or anything, Nancy?"

Nancy lifted her travel mug. "No, thanks. I came prepared."

"That's a nice change of pace," the chief said. His eyes were on his visitor but his thick fingers worked busily, shuffling the papers on his desk and tapping them into a neat stack.

"That's a little unfair!" Nancy protested.

The chief sighed. "I suppose it was a little harsh. I apologize. What can I help you with, Nancy?"

She leaned in. "Are you familiar with the Connolly case?"

Chief McGinnis groaned. "We have a suspect in custody right now. I suppose you're going to tell me we've got the wrong guy, and ruin my nice weekend. My wife is not going to be happy with you."

"I don't know if you have the wrong guy," Nancy said quickly. "You kept Keith Tallis overnight?"

The chief nodded. "Possession of a murder weapon. That was enough to hold him."

"What's his story?"

"He didn't do it, he was framed, the usual spiel. And before you ask, his fingerprints were on the weapon."

"Only his?"

"No," the chief conceded. "There were half a dozen different prints on the thing. I believe they all matched Brendan's immediate family, and Tallis."

"They were roommates. It isn't surprising that his prints were on the bayonet," Nancy said, playing devil's advocate.

"Listen. He's looking pretty good for it. No alibi for the night of the murder, he owed a pretty substantial chunk of change to the vic, and we find the blood-stained murder weapon stashed under his bed? That covers it all pretty well."

"Where was he Thursday afternoon?" Nancy asked.

"Thursday?"

"Somebody attacked me. Somebody who wanted me off the case," Nancy said.

"Yes, I recall that now." McGinnis looked at her sharply. "Shouldn't you be in the hospital?"

Nancy brushed his concern aside. "Would Hannah let me out of the house if I weren't okay?" She paused, waiting for his nod, before going on.

"There's another thing. I strongly suspect that there are two people involved in this case: a mastermind, possibly female, and the man who attacked me on her orders."

"I will take that into consideration," the chief said, jotting it down. He looked up at her. "Anything more?"

Nancy could tell he was impatient to get on with his work. She stood, but hesitated. "May I speak with Keith?"

"He's in the cell. I'll have Webber take you down there."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate it." 

"Always a pleasure, Nancy. Say hello to your dad for me."

Nancy had crossed paths with Nick Webber a few times before. He never seemed pleased to see her. Today was no exception. Webber escorted Nancy to the holding cells without complaint, but his face made it plain that he did not appreciate this interruption to his day. He grunted in reply to her thanks and stationed himself wordlessly outside the door.

Keith looked terrible. He needed a shave, and his eyes were dark-rimmed. He jumped up when Nancy entered the room.

"I didn't do it!"

Nancy was not in the mood for dramatics. "Sit down, Keith."

He sat.

"I didn't do it. You have to believe me. I didn't kill Brendan." His voice cracked.

"Lift up your shirt," Nancy said calmly.

Keith's misery and exhaustion sharpened suddenly into suspicion. "Why?"

"Because if you're the guy who attacked me the other day, you'll have some bruises."

Keith's gaze dragged over her, taking in her scraped knuckles and bruised face as though he were properly looking at her for the first time. His hands went to the hem of his shirt, and he pulled it up past his chest. "Happy?"

"Hey. No funny stuff," Webber yelled in, banging on the door frame.

"It's okay," Nancy called back. She nodded to Keith. "Drop it. You're clear."

"So you believe me?"

Nancy shrugged. "You're not the guy who attacked me. I can't say for sure that you're not involved at all."

"Dammit, I didn't do it!"

"How did the bayonet get under your bed, Keith?"

He blew out a frustrated breath. "How the hell should I know? It's not like my place is so hard to break into. I've popped the lock a few times, myself, when I forgot my key. Anybody could have stuck it there."

"Who would want to frame you?"

"You're the detective." His gaze turned stony. "All I know is, I'm missing class, and I just spent the night in a cell, and my parents are going to kill-" He broke off, realizing the lack of tact in that expression. "They're going to stop paying for college," he said instead. "And I can't afford this by myself."

"I understand you owed Brendan some money," Nancy said.

Keith swallowed hard. "I had to borrow from him to pay for my textbooks at the beginning of the semester. I was going to pay him back."

"Those paintings must have looked pretty tempting," Nancy said, keeping her tone neutral.

"I wasn't even on campus when he found them. I was at home." He clenched his fists on his knees. "This is a nightmare. I'm innocent."

"Keith, I'm going to tell you what I told Faith: if you really are innocent, you're going to be fine. I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

Keith just scowled. "This is all Faith's fault. She could've trusted me."

"She saw a murder weapon under your bed, Keith. She did the right thing."

"Yeah. Whatever." Keith crossed his arms and stared at the wall. Clearly he had had enough of this conversation. But Nancy was not quite ready to leave yet.

"Post office box 947," she said suddenly, and was rewarded with a very visible flinch. She'd struck a nerve.

"Is that your address, Keith?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I'm not stupid."

"Okay, okay. Calm down." Nancy paused, decided to try one last angle. "Too bad those paintings have gone missing, right? If you could still get your hands on them, they could solve a lot of problems for you."

"They're long gone," Keith said without stopping to think.

"What makes you think that?"

He was trying too hard to sound natural. "I mean, they must be, right? Who would hold onto them when the case is so hot? They must've got rid of them by now."

"Probably so," Nancy agreed. 

Webber walked her back upstairs. He grunted again when Nancy politely wished him a nice weekend. She left him to his paperwork and walked out into a light rain, dialing Faith's number.

"Nancy?"

"Hi, Faith. Just checking in with you."

"I'm all right."

"I just had a talk with Keith."

Faith sort of moaned. "Is he okay? Is he angry?"

"I'll be honest with you. He's not exactly overjoyed that you called the police. But he's going to be fine," Nancy said. "He's not the man who attacked me the other day."

"So are they releasing him?"

"Not just yet. But I'll get working on that. Have you remembered any other details I should know about?"

"N-no."

"All right." Nancy had reached her car. She sank carefully into the drivers' seat, wincing slightly. The muscle soreness had mostly abated, but her stitches were still tender. "I'm going to let you go, Faith. I'll check in again soon."

She didn't start her car yet, but she did lock the doors. There was no sense making herself a sitting duck. Then she pulled up Bess's number and dialed.

Bess answered with a groan. "Are you dying again?"

"What? No, I'm fine."

"In that case, I'm going to kill you. Baby and Bess need their sleep."

Nancy glanced at her watch and did some mental arithmetic. "Oh, Bess, I'm so sorry. I forgot about the time difference."

"I figured as much," Bess said wearily. "What do you need?"

"I'll call you later. Better yet, you call me when you have time."

"Okay."

The phone went dead in Nancy's hand. She sighed and set it down...and then picked it right back up again, as her text alert sounded. It was Callie.

 _Hey, is it ok if I borrow your blue sweater dress? Can't button the damn blouse I was going to wear._

 _You know you don't have to ask_ , Nancy typed back, slightly amused at Callie's unusual profanity. Things on the wardrobe front must be dire indeed.

 _Thanks so much. I had nothing else clean that matched these shoes._

This time, when Nancy set her phone down, it stayed silent. She glanced at her watch again, calculating the time remaining until she and Joe had agreed to meet up and compare notes. She had just over an hour left. Nancy started the car and drove the few blocks to the drugstore. Maybe among their shelves of antihistamines and cheap chocolate she would find a miracle in the form of Hannah's Cherry Bakewells.

 _(Author's Note: I'm sorry th_ _is one is short. It's been a rough week but I wanted to get at least a little bit posted. More to come soon, I hope.)_


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Disappointment

The drugstore did contain a miracle- a miracle, not in the form of imported cookies, but in that of two very elusive human beings. Nancy rounded an aisle and came face-to-face with Diarmid Connolly himself. She would have come face-to-face with him, anyway, had he been paying attention. But he was wholly engrossed in staring at a shelf of cold remedies and sniffing loudly every few seconds. Nancy hastily retreated to the adjoining aisle to contemplate her next move. Should she confront him? Stay out of sight? Either way, she should alert Joe. She could send a text while she made up her mind.

The bell above the shop door jangled and suddenly Allie was there, too, approaching her boyfriend with her usual languid hip-swaying gait. Her phone forgotten in her hand, Nancy peered at them through a gap between boxes of hair dye and bottles of shampoo.

"Not that one. It'll make you drowsy." Allie grabbed a box out of Diarmid's hand and stuck it back on the shelf.

"What's the big deal? I can sleep on the plane," Diarmid grumbled, following up his words with an exceptionally repugnant sniff.

"And deprive me of the pleasure of your company?" Allie sneered. She selected another box and held it up. "This one should work."

"That kind tastes like shit," Diarmid said, refusing to take it from her.

"We don't have time to be choosy, princess."

"I want a different kind."

Allie turned away to continue browsing. Nancy's skin was crawling. What she was seeing now was so different from the vacant persona Allie had used with her and Joe.

 _It was an act,_ Nancy realized. _And she really fooled us._

In the background, the bell chimed again, but Nancy paid no attention to it; so a few seconds later, when Joe came up beside her, he had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep her from yelping in surprise.

"I'm not even going to ask how you got here before me," he said in a low tone. "What's the situation?"

"How did you know they were here?"

"I've been on their trail all morning. You?"

Nancy shook her head. "Coincidence. I was about to text you." She directed his attention toward the couple, who were arguing again about the first brand of medication Diarmid had picked.

"They mentioned a flight. Sounds like they're going somewhere later today," Nancy murmured.

"Leaving town? That's not suspicious at all." Joe peered intently through the shelves for a moment. Then he straightened up.

"I'm going to talk to them."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Let's stir the pot a little." He strode off, eyes gleaming with mischief. Nancy turned back to her vantage point and watched him enter the scene. He walked up casually, thumbs hooked in his front pockets, a wide, relaxed smile on his face.

"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite murder suspects!" he said happily. Diarmid jerked as though he had been stung by a bee; but his reaction was not nearly as interesting as Allie's. Because Nancy knew where to look, now, she clearly saw Allie's face go blank. A heartbeat later the woman's shrewd, capable manner had been replaced by a vacuous expression and flirtatious body language.

"Hi, handsome," she said, angling herself and her generous cleavage toward Joe.

Diarmid sneezed. "Shove off, asshole."

"You don't sound so good, man," Joe said breezily.

"That's not what your mom said last night," Diarmid said crudely.

Joe lifted one eyebrow, unfazed. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I'd been transported back to middle school."

"Diarmid, don't," Allie whined, twirling a lock of her hair, and Diarmid closed his mouth on whatever fresh insult he was about to volley at Joe. He contented himself with cracking his knuckles and glaring. Joe did not pay any attention to this.

"What rock have you guys been hiding under? We've been trying to contact you."

"It's not my fault you're bad at your job," Diarmid jeered.

"Baby, go pay for this," Allie said, handing him a box of the medicine he didn't like. He hesitated.

"I'll be right there. Get me a new pack of gum, too," Allie urged.

"I'll be right back. Don't talk to this asshole." With one final glare in Joe's direction, he left.

Allie smiled a very self-satisfied smile, like a cat who has killed the mouse it has been toying with all afternoon. She glided closer to Joe and rested a hand on his arm, her red-painted fingernails gleaming aganst the dark material of his coat.

"I wish I'd known you wanted to talk," she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "I'm always available, for you. How can I help you?" She somehow managed to make those few words sound unspeakably dirty. In her hiding place, Nancy's nails bit into her palms. She had never wanted so badly to hit someone.

"I have contacts at the airport," Joe lied. "I know all about your little trip. It doesn't look good for you, leaving town so soon."

Allie's eyes were full of innocence. "Faith told us they caught Brendan's killer," she said. "We're so exhausted from the whole thing, I begged Diarmid to take me on vacation. We're spending Thanksgiving week at the most romantic little cabin..." She looked Joe up and down and licked her lips slowly. "You could always join us. Diarmid likes to watch me with other guys. And I know a few tricks that would make you forget he's even in the room."

Joe broke away from her unwanted touch, brushing his sleeve as though she had dirtied it. "I'll pass," he told her.

"You won't even give me a chance?" Allie pouted.

"Oh, cut the crap," Joe told her. "I know this whole thing is an act. Even if it were genuine, I'm not attracted to you. I have this weird thing where I just don't want to be with criminals."

"What are you talking about?" Allie asked.

"I saw Diarmid's hands. I know what he did."

A jolt of adrenaline rushed through Nancy. _Diarmid's hands! Diarmid was my attacker?_

"You don't know anything." Allie's mask was slipping now. She was doing her best to look nonchalant, but her eyes gave her away: cold and full of anger. "You don't have any proof. Nothing."

The grin Joe flashed at her was just as coldly frightening as her dagger glare. "Don't worry your pretty little head. We'll get some."

"Good luck." Allie stepped in very close to him suddenly, grabbing his wrist to hold him in place. She put her face very close to his. "And just so you know, I really would have slept with you, and I would have been the best you ever had. We could have made a great team." She brushed her lips against his, making her offer one final time. Joe twisted away from her, eyes blazing.

"Your loss!" Allie snapped.

"I think I can live with that!" Joe snapped back.

Allie's only answer was a crude gesture. She strode away, pausing at the end of the aisle to grit out a final warning. "I have a guy keeping tabs on your girlfriend's house. If I even think I've caught sight of you again today all I have to do is make one call, and Ms. Detective won't be so pretty anymore." And then she was gone.

As soon as she was sure she wouldn't be spotted, Nancy caught up with Joe. "Nice bluff," she commented. "Hope her guy watching my house isn't too bored."

Joe was not in the mood to joke. He was moving fast, anger practically humming off his body like electricity. "They did it," he told her. "I saw bruises on that bastard's hands. He's the one who hurt you."

"I concur. You smell like Allie's perfume, and it matches what I remember from Thursday."

They were outside now and still moving fast. Across the parking lot, Diarmid and Allie were getting into a car.

"Come on," Joe said, flinging his truck door open for Nancy. He paused to close it for her, but she waved him away.

"No time for manners. Drive."

Joe leapt into the driver's seat and pulled out into traffic. Diarmid's car was just a block or two ahead but gaining fast.

"He even drives like a douche," Joe growled, speeding up to make it through a yellow light.

Keeping the suspects' vehicle in sight while remaining undetected was always hardest in town. When Diarmid merged onto the highway both detectives breathed a sigh of relief. Joe fell into position several cars behind Diarmid and relaxed a little.

"They're headed for the airport," Nancy said, voicing their growing suspicion.

"Yeah."

"We can't stop them from getting on the plane."

"We have to do something."

"What can we do? We have no way of planting anything in their luggage to get them detained. We can't follow them into the airport without causing a scene. And we have to grounds to arrest them aside from a few bruises and our instincts. I hate to say this, Joe, but Allie was right. We have no evidence."

"Dammit, Nan, that guy tried to kill you!"

"We'll get him. We just need more time."

"I don't want to arrest him. I want to give him a nice massage with a baseball bat."

"Joe."

He sighed. "Let's at least verify that they're both getting on that plane. Then I'll take you back to your car and we can plan out where to go from here."

Ahead of them, Diarmid's car peeled off down the airport exit. Joe followed suit. Under the detectives' watchful eyes, Diarmid parked in the long-term parking lot and manhandled two suitcases out of the back seat. He and Allie both headed for the departures terminal. Their fears confirmed, Nancy and Joe left. They drove back to Nancy's car in silence broken only by the radio.

"So much for our trap," Joe muttered as he pulled up beside Nancy's roadster in the pharmacy parking lot.

Nancy looked at him. "Let's make the post anyway. It's worth the gamble."

"Nan, they're gone."

"She came here after the inheritance once. She could be lured back." Nancy reached over and squeezed his hand. "We'll get them, Joe. We always do."

"Thanks, Nan. Maybe you're right." He still looked pretty disgusted with himself.

Nancy opened her door. "See you back at the apartment?"

"Yeah. Drive safe, Nan."

"Same to you."

Nancy's phone rang before she had driven more than a few miles. She answered, putting the call on speaker.

"Bess! Isn't it still really early there?"

"I couldn't get back to sleep. First I had to pee, then I got distracted by the sunrise. I've been sitting out on our balcony, watching the sun rise over the ocean while drinking orange juice freshly squeezed by my incredibly hot husband. And I am telling you all of that mainly to make you feel cold and jealous, because you woke me up and I'm petty like that."

"I'm really sorry," Nancy said. "But that sounds incredible. You should be thanking me for giving you an extra few hours of quality time with Tom."

"Listen, cherie, last time I spent an extra few hours of quality time with Tom I ended up pregnant," Bess said flippantly. Nancy could hear Tom laughing in the background.

"Seriously, though, it's okay," Bess assured her. "I'll just take an extra nap later."

"Okay, that does make me feel a little jealous. It's not even noon here, and I'm exhausted."

"You're probably anemic, babe. Make Joe buy you a really nice steak."

"We'll see," Nancy said noncommittally. She would never issue orders to Joe the way Bess did to Tom. It was true that Bess and Tom seemed to thrive on that dynamic, and it was never carried to an unhealthy degree; but Nancy was not like Bess, was not the kind of girl who owned her sensuality and expected men to drop everything to respond to it. Nancy liked that her relationship with Joe was a partnership.

"So, what's up?" Bess asked.

"I just wanted to talk to you about the Connolly case," Nancy said. "Have you noticed anything else interesting since that package came?"

"No more interesting mail," Bess said. "The big news around here is that the owners' daughter is coming home for Thanksgiving. They're super excited."

"Is her name Allie?" Nancy asked.

"How did you know that?"

"Bess, she's our top suspect right now. We just tailed her to the airport half an hour ago."

"Shit," Bess said. She sounded a little stunned. "Okay. Well, we're here. If you need us to do anything, Nan...anything within reason...just ask."

"I'm not going to ask you to do anything dangerous," Nancy said. Her mind was spinning, a nebulous idea forming. "I'm going to email you a link in a bit. We're going to make a fake news article about an art find in River Heights. Do you think you can manage to gossip about it, a lot?"

"That, I can do," Bess said with satisfaction.

"You're the best," Nancy told her friend.

"To tell you the truth, a vacation without a mystery was starting to feel a little bland. You ruined me, Nancy Drew," Bess teased.

Joe was sitting on the kitchen counter, shirtless and eating a slice of cold pizza, when Nancy finally arrived. Without stopping to take off her coat or shoes she went to him and gently tugged his face down for a kiss. He slid down to the floor and wrapped his arms around her, letting his touch steady her while she reclaimed his lips.

"Yours, Nan," he murmured.

"I wanted to hit her," Nancy confessed, kissing him again.

"Put yourself in my shoes. I wanted to dip my face in bleach," Joe teased, trying to make her smile. It worked. Nancy released him and backtracked to the front door to take off her shoes.

"Took you long enough to get here," Joe called, hopping back up to his favorite place on the counter and picking up his pizza.

"Bess called," Nancy told him, shrugging off her coat with careful movements. "I should have pulled over, but I was too impatient, so I just drove really carefully and kept an eye out for police cars."

"Good. The last thing you need is to get pulled over by Frank again," Joe said. He seemed to be in a better mood than he had been when he dropped her off. When Nancy returned to the kitchen he flipped the box open, offering her a slice.

"There's plenty here. We ordered an extra pizza last night."

"Thanks." Nancy leaned against the counter beside him and took a bite. "How's the bike coming along?" she asked idly.

"Stubborn as hell but gorgeous. Like you," Joe said, smiling down at her.

"A lot of girlfriends wouldn't like being compared to a motorcycle," Nancy told him. "It tends to make a girl feel jealous in really peculiar ways."

Joe winked at her. "I'm sorry, Nan. I promise tonight I'll clean out _your_ carburetor."

"Would it be weird if I said that turned me on a little?" Nancy asked, laughing.

"I'd be disappointed if it didn't." Joe looked smug.

"You're such a peacock," Nancy said affectionately. "Come on. I want to sit down for a bit."

"As you wish, milady," Joe said, jumping down off the counter and bowing sweepingly to her. When he straightened he snagged the pizza box and brought it along to the living room.

"Frank isn't going to like this," Nancy said, stopping to survey the clutter. Joe's hat and coat were draped over the chair, his shirt was crumpled on the floor in the general direction of his bedroom, and case paperwork was spread out over the coffee table.

"I'm going to clean it up," Joe said, shrugging. He dropped into his usual seat and Nancy curled up beside him, leaning her head on his Beowulf tattoo to listen to his heartbeat.

"I'm thinking of getting another one," Joe said, his voice rumbling in her ear.

"Another motorcycle?"

"No, another tattoo."

Nancy sat up and looked at him, her eyes skimming from the Old English on his chest to the engine schematic and the old-fashioned compass rose on his arm. "What do you want to get? And where?"

"Pink unicorn tramp stamp?" he said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Very sexy," Nancy said drily.

"I'm still thinking it over. I don't know, though. Dad and Frank already hate the ones I have."

"They don't have to look at them." Nancy reconsidered. "Well, they wouldn't have to see them if you would put on a shirt once in a while."

"Gotta let the skin breathe," Joe said. "Why don't you try taking yours off a little more?"

"I don't have any artwork to display," Nancy told him.

"You don't need any. You're perfect. You are the artwork." He leaned over and kissed her.

"You're just trying to get in my carburetor," Nancy murmured.

"That's a job I don't mind getting my hands dirty for," Joe murmured back.

They kissed again, lingering a little. When they broke apart Nancy sighed happily. "You don't smell like her perfume anymore."

"Why do you think I ditched the shirt?"

"You always ditch your shirt."

"True." His lips were still tantalizingly close to hers. He brushed them along her jawline and nibbled lightly at her earlobe, making her gasp.

"Joe."

"What?" He pulled back to look at her. His eyes were dark, filled with desire and something darker. Need, perhaps.

"Nothing," Nancy said, abandoning herself to his kisses once more. But after a few minutes Joe pulled away.

"That post. We need to get it up, now."

Nancy sighed carefully, so as not to send a twinge through her bruised rib. "Okay."

He smoothed her hair, a gesture both tender and apologetic. "I'm sorry, Nan. If we'd kept going another minute I wouldn't have been able to stop."

"Who says you have to stop?"

"Nurse Janet," Joe told her.

Nancy sighed again, less carefully this time. "Okay." She reached for Joe's laptop. "Let's get some work done, then. How do you think 'Kate' wants to break the news?"

Joe jumped up, suddenly. "Callie started painting last night. Come see it before we start."

"Please don't think I'm unappreciative of her work, but not now," Nancy said, typing away. After a few minutes, she looked up. "I talked to Bess on the way over."

"Yeah, you mentioned that."

"Her bed and breakfast owners are Allie's parents."

Joe whistled. "And you think Allie is heading home?"

"Bess says she is." Nancy handed him the computer. "You're better at this stuff than I am. We need to make a fake news article about the second treasure for Bess to gossip about."

"So Allie will be sure to hear about our bait, even if she doesn't check the forum. Nancy Drew, you're a genius." Joe sat again, kissed her, and started typing. "You get the forum post up?"

"It's done," Nancy confirmed, still smiling broadly from his compliment. She let him work for awhile while she half-dozed beside him, her head on his shoulder.

"Right here," she murmured finally, stroking his bicep.

"Right there what?" Joe asked distractedly, correcting a spelling mistake in the fake article's headline.

"Your new tattoo."

"Okay," he said, kissing her forehead. "Did you dream up a design for it, too?"

"I wasn't sleeping!"

"Uh-huh. Okay. You were wide awake."

Nancy sat up, combing her fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry, Joe. I'm tired today."

"With good reason. Why don't you go lie down in my bed for awhile?"

"I think I will. Wake me in an hour, okay?"

"I will," he promised.

Nancy had never been one to waste time sleeping when there was work to be done. But Joe's bed was warm and comforting, and the rain which had begun lashing against the windowpane lulled her to sleep before she had time to start thinking about the case. The next time she opened her eyes the room had grown darker, and Joe had just sat down on the bed beside her.

Nancy sat up. "Hi," she said softly.

"Hi." He scooted back to sit against the headboard and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her gently back against his chest. He had put a clean shirt on while she slept.

"Good nap?" he asked.

"Very good. I'm sorry, Joe. I shouldn't have left you with all the work like that."

"Hey. We're partners. We're supposed to pick up the slack for each other."

"Still," Nancy said, "I appreciate it. How are things going?"

"I finished up the article and sent the link to Bess about 45 minutes ago. It wasn't hard." He stroked her hair. "Mom called."

"Oh?" She could tell from his tone that it had been more than just a quick-hello type of phone call.

"She finally got Aunt Gertrude to make a doctor appointment." He half-smiled. "Aunt Gert's been complaining day and night that she doesn't trust her doctor because he is younger than she is, and he wears a flashy watch, stupid stuff like that. But she's been having some pretty bad headaches and Mom thinks she's a little scared."

"Oh, Joe. I'm sorry. But I'm really glad she's going to get checked out."

Joe sighed. "As hard as she can be to live with, she's my aunt, and we really do love her."

"I know," Nancy told him.

"I forgot to tell you about that blocked account," Joe said after a moment. Nancy turned to give him a blank look. "The account Brendan had blocked."

"Oh, right."

"Deactivated," he said succinctly. "Gone without a trace."

"Well, that's not useful."

"It had to have been Allie, though. And now that she thinks the whole thing is over, she's covering her tracks. How long can they hold Keith?"

"Until he makes bail," Nancy said, "and that does not seem likely. He's pretty broke, and he doesn't want to bring his parents into this. Have you heard from Chet?"

"He called me last night. He gave me a short list of usernames which seemed more than casually interested in Brendan's treasure hunt, including one guy who offered to buy whatever he found. None of them are local, though. I think the closest one lives in Pennsylvania."

"That's all right. We just need to focus on getting dirt on Diarmid and Allie." Nancy slid carefully out of bed. "I'd better get going. I'm babysitting Myra tonight."

"Okay. I have it set so both our phones will alert us to any replies on the forum. And I'm going to go down to the Bayport police station and see if I can get one of the guys to show me traffic cam footage from the day you were attacked. Maybe we can catch him with his mask off."

"Good thought. I hope whoever is riding the desk down there is bored enough to help you out," Nancy said, padding out to the living room in her sock feet.

"That's what I'm counting on. Want any more pizza before you go?"

"No, thanks. I'll take a sip of your water though."

"Here you are, milady." Joe handed her the glass which had been sitting on the coffee table.

"Thank you, kind sir."

"And may I fetch madame's coat? If I may venture an opinion, madame would look ravishing in the silver mink."

"Madame will stick with the blue wool," Nancy said, laughing. Joe helped her slip into her coat and boots and walked her to the door for a last kiss.

"Will you have Myra all night?"

"I don't think so. That depends on how well George's date goes. What are your plans?"

"I don't know yet. I may stop by later, if that's okay."

"You know I'm always happy to see you. Myra goes to bed around 7:30."

"Okay. I promise I won't wake her up."

Nancy made one stop on her way home: the local bookstore, where she acquired a book and a little stuffed sheep to go with it. She knew George would probably drop off some toys along with Myra, but it couldn't hurt to be extra prepared.

Hannah was in the kitchen when Nancy arrived. "Any word from your father?" she called, hearing Nancy come in.

"Not a peep," Nancy called back. "I'm starting to get impatient."

"Starting to?" Hannah asked, smiling, and pausing in her work to hug the younger woman. Nancy laughed.

"Okay, so I've been impatient since yesterday. Something smells delicious, Hannah."

"I made chicken and dumplings for supper," Hannah said. "Are you hungry?"

"I am now!" Nancy told her.

"We can go ahead and eat now, if you're ready. I'd like to get on the road before this weather takes a turn for the worse."

"That sounds good to me," Nancy said. She went to the cabinet and took out plates for the two of them. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, I thought I told you. I'm going to visit my friend Elaine. I'm going to her book club with her this evening, staying overnight, and coming home after church and a potluck luncheon tomorrow." Hannah, who had just set the food on the table, peered worriedly out the kitchen window. "At least, that was the plan before it started raining again."

"The roads were fine when I came home," Nancy assured her.

"I'm a little afraid that the temperature will dip enough to turn it to ice tonight," Hannah said.

"Just take it slow. You should make it to Elaine's well before it gets that cold."

Hannah shook her head. "I suppose. I'm sorry to leave you on your own with Myra."

"Myra is no problem," Nancy said. She paused, suddenly, and laughed. "I keep saying that. I've probably jinxed myself."

Hannah chuckled. "I certainly hope not."

"We'll be fine," Nancy said. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve, and I even took a nap this afternoon while poor Joe finished up our work. I feel much better than I did this morning."

"Maybe you should see if Callie can come back you up," Hannah said.

Nancy shook her head. "I'll call her if I need her. And Joe said he might stop by later. I'll be fine, Hannah. I think you had more confidence in me when I was 14 and taking my first babysitting job!"

"Things were a little simpler back then," Hannah said, getting up to look out the window again.

"My weather app says it won't get down to freezing until midnight," Nancy said, checking her phone.

"And I'm supposed to believe your phone?" Hannah said absently.

"It's pretty accurate," Nancy began; but just then a small blonde dashed into the kitchen, waving a little yellow umbrella, and the discussion was forgotten.

"Hi, Myra!" Nancy said.

"Hi!" Myra exclaimed. "My duckbrella is all wet!"

"Duckbrella?" Nancy repeated, trying not to laugh, while Hannah took the little girl by the hand and showed her where she could set her wet boots and coat and umbrella to dry.

"I'm sorry," George said, entering the room at a more moderate pace than her young charge. She slung Myra's diaper bag down on a vacant chair with a heavy thump. "I didn't mean for her to track water all through the house. She got away from me. Where do you hide your mop?"

"Don't worry about it, sweetie," Hannah said. "Little feet don't make too much of a mess."

Nancy peered into the bag. "Preparing for a siege, George?"

"Don't laugh. Remember which side of this siege you're on," George said darkly. She unzipped the bag and tilted it toward Nancy. "Okay, Drew. You've got snacks. You've got toys. You've got spare clothes and underwear. Full disclosure, she'll probably need them. You've got a spill-proof cup, which isn't really spill-proof, so watch it. And you've got the lid to Bess's blender, because Myra cried until I let her pack it. And the overnight stuff is in that pocket."

"And Ugly Duckling?" Nancy asked, referring to the dilapidated stuffed duck without which Myra would not sleep.

"What am I, an amateur? He's in there with her pajamas."

"Look at you!" Nancy said. "You are killing this parenting thing!"

"You shut your mouth," George growled. "This is not a side of me I'm proud of."

"There's nothing wrong with being a really great aunt," Nancy said seriously; and then, shifting gears so that her friend wouldn't feel uncomfortable, she asked "Is Regan picking you up here?"

"No, I'm meeting him at Rafferty's."

"Ooh, order the onion rings for me," Nancy said wistfully. "On second thought, don't. Are you guys at a place where you can make out after eating onion rings?"

George shrugged. "Not really. To tell you the truth, I think things are starting to fizzle."

"What? George, I thought you said things were going well."

"When was that?"

"During our stakeout the other night."

George blew out a long breath. "We've talked a few times since then. We just never have time to see each other, you know? Plus, he wants..." She trailed off, looking around for Myra.

"She's in the living room with Hannah," Nancy said.

"He wants me to put out. I'm not really feeling it." She shrugged again.

"He's not pressuring you, right?"

"Oh, hell, no," George said hastily. "You know I don't put up with that shit."

"You've been dating him a few months now," Nancy said slowly. "If you're not interested in him on that level by now, do you think it'll ever happen?"

"I don't know. Probably not. Don't look at me like that, Nan! It's not going to be a big tragedy if we break up. We're not in love or anything."

Nancy sighed. "I like him, though, and you seemed to be having fun together."

"We'll see," George said.

Myra wandered back into the kitchen and made a beeline for her bag. "I want bear crackers now," she announced.

"You'll have to talk to Nancy about that, short stuff. I'm off the clock." George knelt and gave Myra a hug. "Be a good girl, okay? You're going to play with Nancy for a little while and probably go to sleep here. But I'll be back before morning."

"Okay," Myra said, wriggling free. George stood up, offering Nancy a wry smile.

"I was expecting a little more resistance," she said.

"This is Bess's daughter we're talking about. She's anything but shy," Nancy reminded her friend. She stood, too, and pulled George in for a quick hug. "Go, before she changes her mind. Have fun."

"Thanks. I'll try."

"I'm heading out, too, dear," Hannah said. "Do you need anything before I go?"

"I think we're fine." Nancy hugged Hannah. "Be safe. I hope you have a nice visit with Elaine."

Left on their own, Nancy and Myra looked at one another for a moment. Then Myra returned to poking through her bag.

"I want crackers," she said again. "Please."

"These crackers?" Nancy asked, locating a package of Teddy Grahams in a side pocket. Myra's eyes lit up.

"Bear crackers!"

"Come sit on the couch with me," Nancy told her. "I have a brand new story we can read together while you eat your snack."

"Did you go to the liberry?" Myra asked, following Nancy obediently back to the living room.

"No, I went to the bookstore," Nancy said. "I love the library, though."

"I see my friends at the liberry," Myra said. "I have more friends at yoga though."

"Your mommy brings you to a lot of fun places!" Nancy said. She sat the little stuffed sheep in the lap of a delighted Myra, opened the book, and began to read.

Storytime segued into playtime, Myra's snack having boosted her energy; and by 7 o'clock Nancy was aching all over and very relieved to help Myra into her pajamas, brush her teeth, and tuck her into Hannah's bed for some rest. The little girl fell asleep within minutes, happily clutching Ugly Duckling and her new sheep.

That wasn't bad at all, Nancy thought as she tiptoed out of the room. She headed for a kitchen to pour herself a drink before tackling the chaos in the living room. Just as she rounded the corner, she caught an unexpected motion in her peripheral vision. She whirled and struck out instinctively, her fist connecting with a very muscular torso.

"Truce! Truce!" the intruder said urgently, locking his hands around her wrists to prevent her from landing a second blow.

Nancy blinked. "Joe?"

"It's me."

"Why the hell are you lurking in my dark kitchen?" Nancy hissed.

"I just got here. I was being quiet so I wouldn't disturb Myra." He released her wrists and rubbed the sore spot on his abs. "I've always wondered exactly how hard you can hit."

"Well, now you know," Nancy said, trying to remain cross with him. Her hand hurt.

"I'm sorry, Nan."

Nancy relented. "You were just trying to be considerate. I appreciate that." She smiled ruefully. "I probably would have hit you harder if you'd woken her up."

"Did she give you a hard time tonight?" Joe asked sympathetically.

"No, actually. She was a little angel. But she wore me out!" Nancy said. She flipped on the kitchen light, finally, and resumed course toward the refrigerator. "I was just grabbing a drink before cleaning up. We made a pretty spectacular blanket fort in the living room."

"Don't clean that up! I didn't get a chance to play in it, yet," Joe said, only half-joking.

"Go on, then," Nancy said. She paused, looking at the counter, where a brown paper grocery bag sat. "I'm positive this wasn't here earlier."

"That's mine," Joe said.

"Oh, good. I was about to call the bomb squad."

"Just baking supplies," Joe said, starting to unpack the bag onto the counter. "No need to call anybody. I'm not the world's best baker, but nothing I've made has ever exploded yet."

"Yet?" Nancy echoed, smiling up at him. "That's reassuring."

"Don't you start sassing me. I'm trying to help!" Joe said. "I found a knockoff recipe for Cherry Bakewells online. I know you're worried about not finding them, so I thought we could give it a try."

Nancy popped up on tiptoe to give him a gentle kiss. "Joe, I don't know what to say. This is so thoughtful."

"I'm not promising they'll turn out great," Joe said, cupping her cheek and returning her kiss.

"You still get credit for effort," Nancy told him. "Although, if we keep this up, nothing is going to get baked at all." Joe's hands were at her hips, now, one cradling her closer and the other gently rucking up the hem of her sweater to slide up the warm curve of her waist.

"Would that be so bad?"

Nancy moaned, softly. "Only in all the right ways," she said, kissing his neck. "But Myra's still here, and I don't want her walking in on anything explicit."

"That is a good point," Joe said, easing her sweater back into place. Nancy pulled away, planting one final kiss on his collarbone.

"Okay, Hardy. Let's see the recipe."

He pulled it up on his phone while Nancy tied Hannah's apron on over her jeans and sweater. This accomplished, she pressed up next to him, perhaps closer than was strictly necessary, to look over the instructions.

"This doesn't look too complicated," she said innocently, pressing her breast against his arm.

Joe gave her a look that said he knew exactly what she was doing. _Two can play that game_ , his eyes told her. Without skipping a beat he stepped back, encircling her lightly with his arms so he could hold the recipe in front of them both.

"Speak for yourself. Last time I baked something Frank chipped a tooth," he said. His tone matched hers for innocence, but he was very deliberately pressing his groin into her back.

Nancy's breath hitched a little. "Practice makes perfect," she said inanely, hoping her voice was not too breathy. She stepped away from him and turned, meeting a pair of sparkling blue eyes.

"You look a bit flustered, Miss Drew."

"Just go grab the butter!" she ordered, smoothing her apron.

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Joe said, handing her the butter and a mixing bowl.

"You are incorrigible."

"So I've been told," he said amiably. "Flour?"

"Yes, please. And stand over there."

"Don't you trust me?"

"I'm not sure I trust myself right now!" she confessed.

Joe leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Truce," he said, for the second time that evening. "No more teasing. Let's bake."

They mixed and measured together happily, combining real focus with flirtatious banter. When the confection was finally in the oven, Joe brewed a pot of coffee and they sat down at the kitchen table to rest.

"Poker?" Joe asked, pulling a deck of cards from his pocket.

"Not st-"

"No, no, not strip poker. This time." He winked and began to deal. "Five card stud. Playing for...got any matches?"

"How about Teddy Grahams?" Nancy suggested, dividing what remained of Myra's snack.

"This one is wet," Joe complained.

"Sorry. Sometimes she licks them and puts them back in the bowl."

"I used to do that to Frank's cookies," he said, grinning.

"See? Karma," Nancy told him. "I see your slimy bear and raise you two dry ones."

The time passed quickly. When the oven timer beeped, Joe jumped up to retrieve the pan.

"Are they done?" Nancy asked.

"I think so. Do they need to cool before I cut them?"

"They really do. Get over here and let me finish losing."

He returned to the table. "I think you're bluffing."

"Bluffing about losing?" Laughing, Nancy threw down her cards. "Read 'em and rejoice, Hardy."

The cookies, when Nancy got up to slice them, looked a bit sad and deflated. Nancy stood for a moment, regarding them.

"What's wrong?" Joe asked, refilling his coffee cup.

"They're not going to win any beauty contests," Nancy said, cutting off two sample pieces.

"Didn't Hannah ever teach you it's what's on the inside that counts?" Joe reached over and snagged one, blowing on it lightly before taking a bite. Nancy shrugged and followed suit. She only needed one taste. Nancy set her cookie down, rubbing crumbs from her fingertips. It wasn't awful...but it wasn't good, either. _I wish Bess were here to help me tinker with the recipe,_ she thought. It was silly to get upset about a dessert, but she felt disappointed and discouraged.

"They're not the worst thing I've ever had," Joe said thoughtfully, taking another bite of his. "What's wrong, Nan?"

Nancy tried to force a cheerful look onto her face. "Nothing, Joe. Thanks for giving it a try."

"Nancy. Come on."

"Oh..." She breathed out, a sort of huffy half-sigh. "I hate to let Hannah down, that's all."

"Hannah will understand, babe." He looked at her. "This isn't really about Hannah, is it?"

"Dating a detective is not all it's cracked up to be," Nancy joked, swiping away a tear before it could fall. "Okay. You know how little I was when my mom died, right? So the way I miss her, it's...complicated, because I never really got to know her. I just have a vague sense of a very loving and warm person. But I hate that. I hate that she hasn't been here to see all the things I've done with my life. Anything that connects me to her is so important to me."

"Like this?" Joe said softly, touching the claddagh ring on her right hand.

Nancy nodded. "Tangible things, like wearing her jewelry, and intangible things, like listening to the music we both like, and keeping up these silly little rituals. I know they're just cookies, but I can't help feeling really sad that we won't have them this year."

Joe wrapped his arms around her. "I get it," he said softly. "I don't think you're being silly at all."

"Thanks." Nancy leaned into him, appreciating his strong, comforting presence. In the background, her phone chimed, but they ignored it.

It chimed again.

"Here," Joe said, disentangling himself from her and reaching across the table to grab it for her. "Is it a response to our forum post?"

Nancy's face lit up. "It's Dad!" she said. "And Camille. She said yes!" She turned the screen so Joe could see Camille's text, a photo of her hand with the ring firmly in place.

"I can't get over how beautiful that ring is," Nancy said, staring at it. "Dad's taste has changed a lot since he bought Mom's ring."

"You don't like your mom's ring?" Joe asked curiously.

"I do like it. It's just a regular ring, though."

"They were pretty young, weren't they?"

"They were older than your parents were. I think they were both 20 when they got married."

Joe turned her phone again to study Camille's ring. "It's nice, but it isn't you," he said.

"Oh, really?"

"Really."

"What kind of ring is 'me?' " Nancy asked, tucking her phone into her pocket. "And why didn't you tell me I'm still wearing this apron?"

"Because you look really cute, and I'm not sure yet," Joe answered.

"What kind of ring did your mother give you?" Nancy asked from beneath the apron she was tugging over her head.

"She gave me my great-grandmother's engagement ring. I'll show it to you next time you're over at my place." Joe got up and went to the sink to rinse out their coffee cups and mixing bowls before setting them in the dishwasher. "Is this full enough to run?"

"Yeah, go ahead. Thanks."

Joe retrieved the dishwasher soap from beneath the sink and measured it out. "Are you keeping Myra overnight, Nan?"

"I think George is going to come pick her up soon," Nancy said, transferring the remaining cookies to a container.

"Are things not going well with Regan?"

"They're not going badly," Nancy said. "I get the sense they're just not going, period."

"I get it." He reached for her and kissed her. It was gentle, this time; loving, but without any urgency.

"I had fun tonight," he said. "I'm sorry the cookies didn't turn out better."

"Don't worry about that. I had fun, too," Nancy told him. "Are you heading home?"

"It's getting late."

She walked him out to his truck, shivering in the gusty wind that had picked up, and as they were kissing goodnight George's headlights swung into the drive.

"I'm not paying you to fool around with your boyfriend, young lady!" George called, shutting her car door.

"You're not paying me at all!" Nancy retorted.

"That's for sure," George said. "Hi, Hardy."

"Hey, Fayne."

"How's the little gremlin?"

"Sleeping peacefully," Nancy said. "She's in Hannah's room. I'll get her for you."

"No," George and Joe both said, and broke off to look at each other.

"She's pretty heavy. I'll get the kid if you get the bag," George said.

"That's better." Joe kissed Nancy's cheek and hopped up into his truck. "See you tomorrow, Nan?"

She nodded. "Drive safe."

"Yes, ma'am."

George steered Nancy toward the house. "Come on. It's freaking freezing out here."

Myra stirred a little and mumbled something incoherent when George gently transferred her to her car seat, but she stayed asleep. George high-fived Nancy silently, tossed the diaper bag into the passenger seat, and drove off.

Nancy headed back inside, feeling suddenly very alone. She carefully locked the door and armed the alarm system before moving deeper into the big house.

Despite her small family, Nancy had rarely spent time alone in the house. There had always been friends around, and her father working in his office, and Hannah's motherly presence somewhere about the place. Tonight the house was dark and almost oppressively silent. Nancy wandered a little, looking at all the familiar rooms and wondering what it would be like after Camille had moved in and Hannah had moved out.

 _Things are changing. Home is changing._ The thought made her feel a bit lonely. But her next thought, though it surprised her a little, made her feel better.

 _I want to move out, too. I'm going to start looking for my own place._ Making a decision always bolstered Nancy's spirits. The silence around her began to feel peaceful, now, rather than oppressive. It was with great contentment that Nancy went upstairs to shower and get ready for bed and scroll the forum on her phone until sleep claimed her again.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen: Interlude

Author's Note: Here, have some fluff! :) The painting and artist Callie refers to are completely fictitious.

The Hardys' apartment was strangely quiet when Nancy let herself in early Sunday morning. She hung up her coat, smoothing the skirt of her green plaid dress, and peeked into the kitchen. Callie was there, dancing to the music on her iPod, a piece of beef jerky in one hand and the pancake flipper in the other. She pulled out one earbud when she saw Nancy.

"Good morning, sunshine. Blueberry pancake?" she offered, gesturing to the plate of golden-brown cakes beside the griddle.

"Yes, please," Nancy said, helping herself. The pancake was delightfully warm in her chilly hands.

"Good, right?" Callie asked, watching her take a bite. Nancy nodded.

"Even better than they smell, and that's saying something."

"They're even better with beef jerky."

"I'll take your word for it," Nancy said.

"It's the sweet/savory thing," Callie explained. "I don't think it's too bizarre."

"Okay, I see your point. Most people go with bacon at this hour of the day."

"Too greasy," Callie said, flipping two golden pancakes onto the plate and pouring fresh puddles of batter on the griddle.

"I'm just glad you can eat, no matter how peculiar your menu is," Nancy said. "You look a thousand times happier now."

Callie nodded. "I am. I'm still sick first thing when I wake up, and certain smells make me feel nauseated, but it's getting easier to keep most food down."

"Good boy, Weatherby," Nancy said, directing the words toward Callie's abdomen.

"Or girl!" Callie chimed in.

"Which would you rather?" Nancy asked idly, finishing the last bite of her pancake.

"I don't have a preference. I'm still trying to accept the fact that I'm having any kind of baby," Callie confessed.

"Are you doing all right?"

"I'm still scared." Callie put a hand to her still-flat belly. "You know me. I don't like things to get out of control. And this is about as far out of control as I can imagine. My own body is doing bizarre things and my whole life is changing..."

"You'd better flip those," Nancy said gently, nodding toward the griddle.

"Oh! Thanks."

"Think of it this way," Nancy suggested. "Your life was changing, anyway, with the move and the wedding. You're just getting the change of having your first child out of the way at the same time as all the rest of this stuff. You won't have to worry about it later on, or go through the hassle of deciding when is the right time."

"You can be such a Pollyanna!" Callie said, but she was smiling.

"It's incredibly easy to have a cheerful perspective on someone else's life," Nancy remarked, smiling back at her friend.

"You're not wrong. I mean, we did intend to start a family within a few years," Callie said.

"Regardless of the timing, you two are going to be great parents."

"Have you ever seen Frank with his little cousins at family things?" Callie asked, reaching for another piece of jerky.

"No. I haven't been invited to many big events yet. I think I'm still in my probation period," Nancy joked.

"Well, just wait for the reunion next summer."

"Is Frank good with kids?"

Callie closed her eyes. "Mmm-hmm. Talk about sweet. I could just pour him on my pancakes and eat him up." She opened her eyes again to look at Nancy. "That's one of the things that's been helping me get through this. I imagine him holding his own baby, our baby, and it makes me so happy. Don't you giggle at me, Nan. Tell me the idea of Joe holding a baby doesn't make you all swoon-y too."

Nancy bit her lip. Her mental picture of Joe cradling his niece or nephew did, in fact, make her pulse quicken a little. The image tapped into the dichotomy of strength and tenderness she loved so much.

"Ha! You're imagining it," Callie said, pouring out the last of her batter with a satisfied air.

"I can't help it! It's a biological conspiracy," Nancy said, flustered. She smoothed her skirt again. "Where are the boys, anyway?"

"My boy is working this morning. Your boy is still asleep."

"Just where I hoped he'd be."

Callie's eyebrows lifted delicately. "Are you planning what I think you're planning?"

"Possibly," Nancy said cautiously. "What do you think I'm planning?"

"I think you're planning to corrupt young Joseph with your feminine wiles. And on the Sabbath, too! Aunt Gertrude would have you put in the stocks," Callie teased.

"Young Joseph was long since corrupted when I got to him," Nancy said, rolling her eyes. "Gertrude is probably the only person on earth who imagines that boy is a virgin."

"He doesn't exactly discourage his reputation, does he? I wish he cared more about his image."

"It's more to his advantage to be underestimated," Nancy said thoughtfully. "Besides, I think after Iola he didn't exactly care what anyone thought of him for awhile."

"You're right," Callie said. She had been eying Nancy appraisingly. "You're not wearing anything under that dress, are you." It was not exactly a question.

"Nary a stitch," said Nancy airily. "I'd turn my music up for a little while if I were you, Cal. I'm going in."

"I appreciate the warning!" Callie said, retrieving the earbud she had let fall. "Um. Enjoy, I guess? I'm not sure what the protocol is here."

"That works!" Nancy said, laughing.

Joe slept on a hair trigger. Nancy could count on one hand the number of times she had managed to sneak up on him. That made it all the sweeter when she managed to cross the room and slide under the covers before his eyes opened.

"It's me," she said softly, twining her legs with his.

"I hoped so," he murmured back, relaxing. "This would be a little awkward if it were anyone else."

"Usually your first move is to grab a weapon, not to cuddle."

Joe wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled into the side of her neck. "My subconscious must be getting used to you."

"Took you long enough. Why do you sleep with a knife, anyway? Why not a gun?"

"Too easy to pull a trigger on instinct. The knife makes me take a moment to let the rest of my brain catch up."

"I asked Callie, once, if Frank is this paranoid."

"He's not," Joe said immediately.

"Yeah, that's what Callie said. Why is that?"

Joe shrugged. "I've always relied more on instinct than he has. Besides, he's a cop. He has a lot more faith in the system than I do." He paused. "Does it bother you, Nan?"

"No." She kissed him, letting the kiss draw out into a lazy, hungry rhythym: need without urgency, desire without haste.

"You taste like blueberries," he said finally, without pulling away, so that he shaped his words directly against her lips.

"Callie's making pancakes."

He did pull back, then, moving as though he intended to get up and go into the kitchen. "And you didn't bring me one?"

"You'd pick pancakes over sex?" Nancy demanded, tugging him back down. She threw a leg over him and sat up, rocking against his hips. Joe's hands slid up her thighs, caressing the smooth warmth of her skin.

"Sex? Who's having sex?" he teased, looking around the room in exaggerated confusion.

"Not you, if you can't behave!"

"Since when is good behavior a prerequisite for fucking?" he asked, drawing whisper-light circles on her inner thigh to make her squirm. "That sounds boring as hell."

Nancy leaned forward to trace a delicate line along his throat with her tongue. She loved how mouthy he got when he was aroused, loved the cool and cocky drawl in his voice. "All right, then, Hardy. Let's misbehave."

"I don't know, Drew." One hand drifted up to the apex of her thighs and cupped her there, caressing lightly. "I have a little dilemma here."

Nancy bit him, lightly, just above the collarbone. "What's the dilemma?"

"Do I get up and get me some homemade blueberry pancakes? Or do I stay here and continue investigating the Mystery of the Missing Panties?"

"Here's a clue. The bra is missing, too," Nancy told him. "I considered coming over in nothing but a trench coat."

"Well, why didn't you?"

"Too cliche."

"I wouldn't have complained." One finger dipped into her warm wetness, as if he couldn't help himself. He moaned. "Mmm. Definitely no complaints. You could show up in a clown suit and I'd still want you." He paused, though, the hand at her center going still.

Nancy rolled her hips against that hand, asking for more pressure. "Still thinking about those pancakes?" she asked.

"No, I'm thinking about those damn stitches."

"Don't."

His fingers started moving again, gently and steadily. "I don't want to hurt you. We can stick to hands and mouths today."

"You're not going to hurt me, and this is starting to get demoralizing!" Nancy told him.

"Oh, well, if it's a question of _morale_ ," Joe teased, finishing a stroke with a swirling semi-circle that made her gasp. "We can't have you trying to solve cases with low morale, detective. Terrible for productivity."

"What are you going to do about it?" Nancy asked, ending with another gasp.

"I'm afraid there's only one thing I can do," he intoned solemnly, grabbing her thigh and gently moving her off his lap. He sat up and licked his wet fingers.

"Come on," he said.

"Where are we going?"

"Right here." He slid off the bed, pulling her over to sit on the edge of the mattress, and he knelt between her knees. "I think, Miss Drew, that you will soon find yourself re-moralized." He was pushing her skirt up as he spoke. Nancy leaned back, bracing her hands on the bed behind her, and gave a shiver of delight as he began trailing a line of kisses up the inside of her left thigh.

"Re-moralized, huh?" she said distractedly.

Joe, who had skirted up to kiss her hip bone, paused there, resting his chin in her navel. "I could always get dressed and go have pancakes," he said.

Nancy hooked her leg around his broad shoulders, laughing. "No! Don't even think about leaving me hanging like this, Joe."

"Oh, were you enjoying that?" He dipped his head and gave her a leisurely lap with his tongue, grinning when he felt her shiver again.

"Joe," she said again, helplessly.

"Yes, dear?" he asked, looking up at her impudently. Nancy laughed out of the sheer joy of being with him and pulled him up for a kiss.

"I adore you," she told him.

"That's funny. I was just saying the same thing to you," he said, brushing a stray lock of hair back from her face. And then he buried his head between her thighs again, and Nancy ceased to have any coherent thoughts for quite some time.

When she came back to earth, Joe was stripping off his shorts. He climbed back into bed and reclined against the headboard, looking at her.

"Take off your dress," he said.

Nancy knelt on the bed and began undoing buttons, slowly, teasing him, until he lost patience and sat up to pull her close and kiss her, fumbling blindly with her buttons until the dress was loose enough to pull up and over her head. He dropped it over the side of the bed and sat back to look at her. Nancy made no movement to cover herself. She sat up tall and shook her hair back over her shoulders to bare herself to him completely. His gaze traveled across her body, lingering at every bruise and every stitch. By the time they reached her face his eyes had gone dark with fury; and there was that jaw muscle again, clenched tight, betraying his anger. He reached out with unwonted hesitation and touched her, drawing his fingers lightly across the fading bruise on her cheek before dropping his hand to curl lightly around her shoulder. All the playfulness in his touch had evaporated.

"I could kill him. I wish I had. He hurt you, and I let him walk away."

"Joe." Nancy cupped his face briefly in one hand, brushed her fingers through his tousled blond hair, trying to ground him in the peace of their shared bed. The look in his eyes was breaking her heart: fury and pain and a love so intense she felt burned by it. She knew this side of him, though he very rarely revealed it even to her. George called it his dark side, though it was really not so much darkness as intensity. It was the flip side of the coin, the familiarity with rage and loss and despair which lent a poignant depth to his natural joyful exuberance.

"It's the truth," he told her, his voice still taut with anger.

"Now you know how I feel when I see your bullet scar." She leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, trailing one hand down the front of his torso to touch a small bruise she had noticed there.

"Did I do this?"

He looked. "Yeah."

"You deserved it, you know," she told him. His expression softened.

"That's the thanks I get for helping out?" He was coming back to her, letting the weight of existence roll back off his shoulders. Nancy lay back against the pillows, pulling him down on top of her and kissing him to remind him that they were together and naked and alive. His response left her with no doubt that he was both aware of these things, and deeply appreciative of them.

"I missed this," Nancy said, after some time.

"It's only been a few days." Joe's laugh was muffled against her breast. When he lifted his head, though, he was serious. "I know, Nan." There was no need to say more than that. They both knew this was more than a physical act, for them; it was an emotional connection, a shelter from a world they knew to be frequently cruel, and a time of absolute transparency.

"I love you," he said, simply. And from that point on reality narrowed to eyes and lips and hands; Joe's voice growling beautiful, dirty, maddening things into her ear; the taste of salt on his skin; the heat pooling low in her belly. Nancy gave herself over to the act with mingled pleasure and relief which Joe seemed to feel as well.

The couple emerged from Joe's room a little before noon, blinking in the sudden light of the living room. Callie had the curtains pulled wide open and was sitting at her easel, working happily.

"What are you doing out of bed already?" she demanded, dabbing color onto her brush. "It's a rest day. Go wallow in your hedonism like the rest of the world."

"You're not wallowing," Joe pointed out.

"We got hungry," Nancy explained, pulling Joe's robe tighter around herself. "Is that our painting?"

"It is. Come tell me what you think of it."

"It's beautiful!" Nancy said, delighted.

Joe went in for a closer look, his gaze moving from Callie's painting to her photograph of the original work. "You're amazing. Your brushstrokes look identical to his. What is this painting, anyway?"

"So you're saying I have the potential to become a really successful art forger?" Callie asked, grinning.

"I'm not advising it," Joe said, smiling back at her.

"It's a copy of a painting called _Reverie,_ by someone named Horace Wright Watson. It went missing in the 1930s. It's valuable enough to catch your criminal's fancy, but it's nothing that will set the art world on fire."

"Good choice, Cal," Nancy said. "Thank you so much for doing this for us."

"I've really enjoyed it," Callie said. "And I promise it'll be ready by Tuesday. That's still when you want it, right?"

"That's when we said our fake exhibition is taking place. But we can always change that," Nancy said. "I don't want you to feel pressured."

"It'll be done by this evening," Callie promised. She was looking at Joe, though, rather than her canvas. Curious as to what Callie was finding so interesting, Nancy looked, too. Joe was leaning forward, intently comparing the two paintings. His hair was mussed, his posture was confident and satisfied, and the flannel pajama pants slung low on his hips did nothing to hide the bite mark over his hip bone or the scratches on his back. Nancy, feeling Callie's gaze shift to her, blushed.

"You both look completely debauched," Callie said sternly.

"No surprise there," said Joe absently, as he peered at another section of the painting. "We put a lot of effort into it."

"I know. I heard."

"I'm really sorry," Nancy said. "You must be dying to move out of here."

"Actually, no. I'm really going to miss this."

Joe arched an eyebrow at her. "You're feeling nostalgic about living in a place with walls so thin we all know every detail of each other's sex lives? Those pregnancy hormones are nuts, Cal."

"Trust me, not even crazy hormones could make me sad about not having to overhear some of the things I've heard you say!" Callie said. "But I'll miss living together. I know it can get ugly. We all have to deal with each other's clutter and PDA and, yeah, puking in the kitchen sink." She looked apologetic. "But we've all grown really close, living here. I'm going to miss watching baseball with you, Joey. And Nan, I feel like I finally have a sister. It's been so much fun hanging out with you and sharing clothes and makeup."

"Hey," Joe said gently. "Don't cry. The TV is Frank's. I'm going to be over at your place every time I want to watch a game."

Callie laughed through her tears. "You'd better be over there all the time, anyway, to play with your niece or nephew."

"That depends on what team the kid roots for," Joe joked.

Nancy leaned in to give Callie a hug, careful not to bump her paintbrush. "I feel the same way, girl. I'll miss having you around. But we're not going to be strangers."

"Good." Callie set her brush down, suddenly, and turned away from her easel.

"I need to tell you something. I should probably hold off until Frank gets home, but I don't want to wait any longer."

"What's going on?" Nancy asked, her mind immediately presenting her with a tidal wave of worst-case scenarios. _The wedding is off. There's something wrong with the baby. We've done something to offend her. Something is wrong with Frank._

"Nothing bad!" Callie said quickly. The two faces trained on her relaxed visibly.

"Frank and I were talking, a few nights ago, and we realized that if something...if something happened, to me, or to, to, the baby, he really has no legal ties to us. So we want to get married."

Nancy stared at her. "You are getting married."

Joe was a few steps ahead, already. "You're moving the wedding up?"

Callie shook her head. "No, we're going ahead with the wedding as planned. But we're going to have a quick courthouse ceremony Wednesday afternoon, just to get all the legal stuff in order. And we want you to be there."

"Do Mom and Dad know?" Joe asked.

"They know."

"When did you get the license?"

Callie smiled. "Friday morning, before we stopped to get sink parts and visit you. The judge knows Mr. Hardy, and he rushed it for us. We weren't expecting to get it until after Thanksgiving."

Nancy finally found her voice. "Of course we'll be there!" she said, hugging Callie again.

"Damn right we'll be there," Joe echoed. "I can't believe Frank kept this from me."

"Oh, honey, he didn't. We just decided last night that we wanted to do it on Wednesday." Callie patted Joe's arm. "And we also decided that if you couldn't be there on Wednesday, we would change the day. You know he wouldn't get married without you."

Joe looked somewhat appeased. "Good," he said.

Callie picked up her brush again, smiling serenely. "Didn't you say you came out here to find some lunch?"

"That was before we knew there was anything more interesting to think about!" Nancy told her. "What time is it going to be? And have you told your parents? And what are you going to wear?"

"Easy there, Drew," Joe said, tugging her by the sleeve toward the kitchen. "Let's get some sustenance before the interrogation."

"I'll answer anything you want if you bring me an apple!" Callie called after them.

"Deal!" Nancy called back. She brushed a playful kiss to Joe's shoulderblade in passing and began getting out the ingredients to make veggie wraps. The sooner they ate, the sooner she could get her answers.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen: Momentum

"So, what are you going to wear?" Nancy asked again, peering over the top of Callie's easel. Callie blinked slowly, surfacing from her creative focus.

"You're still here?"

"We just finished up lunch. Joe went out to the garage to put in some time with his other love interest." Nancy smiled broadly. "I'll let you be, if you want. I'm sorry I interrupted."

Callie set down her paintbrush. "No, I don't mind. It's really just about finished."

"Then let's talk wedding stuff!" Nancy said. "I don't know about you, but I could use some girl time."

"Okay," Callie said, cleaning her brush. "That does sound nice."

"Do we need to go shopping?" Nancy asked. Callie shook her head.

"This is kind of silly, but I'm thinking I might wear my wedding dress," she said sheepishly.

"Why would that be silly? It's your wedding."

"I know, but it's too fancy for the courthouse. And I don't know if it will even fit anymore."

"Let's go find out."

"Right now?" Callie asked, looking looking as startled and unsure as she sounded.

"Why not?" Nancy, who had begun heading for the bedrooms, returned to Callie's side. She tipped her head and regarded her friend for a long moment before Callie squirmed and covered her face.

"Don't detect at me!" she protested, her voice muffled. "I always feel like a murder suspect when you do that."

"Guilty conscience?" Nancy teased.

"Not that guilty."

Nancy met her friend's gaze. Her voice was sure but gentle. "You don't think you deserve to wear your dress. You think your mother is right about you."

"You're right." Callie sighed. "I want to marry Frank. I'm actually really excited about this, maybe even more excited than I am for the real wedding. But I can't help thinking it's my fault we have to do this and it would be dumb to make a big deal out of it."

"Callie, this is the real wedding. The one in June is going to be a great party. But Wednesday is the day you two make your real vows. You and Frank are already soulmates, but on Wednesday you're standing up in front of witnesses to bind your family together in the eyes of the law." Nancy paused to grab a tissue for Callie, who was dabbing away tears with the hem of her t-shirt. "I think that is a big deal, and I think you deserve to wear that dress," she finished.

Callie slid off her stool. "You should have gone into politics, Nan. That was inspiring."

"I meant it," Nancy said.

"Let's go, then. Let's see if it even fits."

The gown in question was hidden away with several other wedding accoutrements at the very back of Frank's closet. Callie disappeared into the depths to extract it. Nancy, meanwhile, prowled over to the armchair in the corner and sat down to pass the time by studying the room and its furnishings. She had been in Frank's bedroom infrequently enough that being there still felt a little strange, a little intrusive. It wasn't that she was unwelcome there, she knew; but Frank was a private person who did not often invite people into his space. Nancy looked around, taking in the antique dresser and bed frame, the nightstand and its stack of nonfiction books, the gun safe and filing cabinet, and the desk with its neat array of computers and writing implements and training manuals. In one corner was a set of weights and a yoga mat. Near the closet, a neatly-folded ironing board stood ready for use. Callie's influence was apparent in the selection of artwork on the walls and the flowers growing in hand-thrown pots on the windowsill. It was a comfortable, tasteful, and very adult room-and it was familiar, in a way that it took Nancy a moment to put her finger on.

 _Oh_ , she realized. _It reminds me of the Nickersons' home. I guess Frank is a lot like Ned, in some ways._ Their rock-solid maturity, their serious demeanor, their athleticism, even their taste for luxury: Frank and Ned had all these things in common.

 _The difference is that Frank is dangerous, in a way Ned could never be,_ Nancy mused. Ned was brave; Nancy would give him that much credit. But he didn't have Frank's natural leadership or his trained ability to detach himself from the emotions of a situation. Nancy could not imagine Ned shooting anyone, much less shooting to kill; but she had witnessed Frank's utter lack of hesitation the first time he had been forced to kill.

Nancy shook her head, snapping herself out of her introspection. "Need help in there, Cal?"

"No, I've got it." A moment later Callie emerged from the closet, clutching a large garment bag, a shoebox, and several shopping bags. She dumped it all onto her side of the bed.

"There. Dress, undergarments, veil, shoes...it's all here."

"I can't believe Frank never peeked at that," Nancy said.

"Frank would never do that," Callie said absently, spreading out the garment bag on the bed and unzipping it. Unlike Joe's bed, with its mismatched sheets and threadbare comforter, Frank's bed was carefully made with luxurious sheets and a tasteful duvet in shades of brown and gold. Nancy made a mental note: _We need new linens. Maybe we can catch a good deal on Black Friday._

"Well, I'm not sure I could have resisted the temptation, if I were in his shoes," she said aloud. She was joking, mostly, but when Callie looked up at her there was no answering merriment in her brown eyes.

"He's Frank," she said matter-of-factly, as if that explained it- and it did, really. Frank would rather die than step over any line he had drawn for himself.

"Joe wouldn't have peeked, either, you know," Callie went on, and Nancy bit back a twinge of irritation. Though she loved Callie, the other woman's possessive attitude toward the brothers could be galling. It was true that Nancy had not been with Joe half her life, as Callie had been with Frank; but she had been friends with them since childhood and she believed she knew them as well as Callie did.

"I know, Cal," she said mildly. "I was just joking."

Callie sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm feeling a little intense about everything right now."

"Understandably so," Nancy said, letting go of her irritation.

Callie lifted the gown out, then, and the young women's mood lightened. She held it up, shaking out the full skirt. The dress was tea-length, with three-quarter sleeves, and consisted of a creamy white underdress with an overlay of blush-pink lace. Callie ran a finger along the lace pattern and tried to smile.

"My mom hates this dress. She was pushing me to pick a blindingly white ball gown. She kept telling me pink was inappropriate, people would talk, everyone was going to think I wasn't a virgin." She laughed, suddenly. "I guess I picked a suitable dress after all."

Nancy rolled her eyes. "Please," she said, not bothering to hide her disdain for Callie's mother's unkindness. "You're hardly a loose woman. You've only ever been with Frank, and you two might as well have been married since high school. If the color of our gown depends on the purity of our bodies I'm going to have to go down the aisle in scarlet."

"I'm not sure you should count Ned. He was away at college for most of your relationship," Callie said. She was shedding her sweatpants and her paint-dappled t-shirt, revealing a grey bra and panties set dappled with pink roses. Callie was the only girl Nancy knew who always matched her underwear, even on weekends. Nancy couldn't help sneaking a glance at Callie's abdomen, but despite Callie's recent complaints about feeling bloated there was no real change there. She returned her attention to their conversation.

"That's a good point," Nancy said. "And even when he was home, he was never really demanding."

"I don't remember you talking about this," Callie said, intrigued. She stepped into the gown and slid her arms into the lace sleeves.

"It was kind of embarrassing. I mean, when you're that young and your boyfriend isn't all over you all the time, you kind of assume you're doing something wrong." Nancy shrugged. "Plus, Bess would have made it her mission to fix it. Want me to button you up?"

"Please." Callie turned her back to Nancy and pulled her hair forward over her shoulder, out of the way of the buttons. "Did you ever figure out what was up with him? Or not up, I guess." She giggled.

"He was nervous, I think." Nancy was buttoning as she spoke, letting her fingers deftly slide the tiny buttons into place while she pondered the right words to use. She respected Ned and was trying to be diplomatic about the past. "He worried a lot about taking advantage of me and about his performance. On top of that, he's very...oh, not inhibited, exactly, but he's very careful, in bed. I don't like to be treated like antique china. I like a little roughness."

"So you never left Ned handcuffed to a bed all night?"

Nancy could see Callie's grin in the mirror in front of them. She grinned back over her friend's shoulder. "Frank told!"

"Of course! That's too funny not to tell. He was mortified, though, about seeing you."

"I wasn't exactly overjoyed about that, either. Stop fidgeting, hon."

"I'm scared it's going to be too tight," Callie said anxiously, twisting her head around to try to see the row of tiny buttons Nancy was fastening up the back of her gown.

"It's not going to be too tight," Nancy said, slipping the final button into place. "There. How does it feel?"

Callie's head swiveled the other way, toward the full-length mirror she had hung on the back of Frank's bedroom door.

"I look like a sausage in a tutu."

Nancy couldn't help laughing. "Cal, no. You don't look remotely sausage-like."

"It's much tighter than it was when I bought it." Callie anxiously smoothed the material over her midriff and turned to the side to look at her reflection from that angle.

"You look beautiful."

"You have to say that. You're my friend." She was still turning, looking over her shoulder now to catch her reflection from the back. "Be honest with me, Nan. Does it look trashy?"

"We've been friends way too long for polite lying. If I thought it looked bad I would tell you. It fits. And your mother can take her opinion and shove it, because that color is stunning on you. White would have just washed you out."

"Exactly!" Callie said, turning to look from another angle. "Thanks for the validation." She smoothed her hands over her abdomen again.

"Are you sure I don't look stuffed into this thing?"

"Cal, you're fine. I know you feel bloated, but you're not showing yet. The only real difference I see from when you bought it is a slight increase in cleavage."

Callie laughed. "That is true. Is it too much? Crap. Do I look cheap? Do I look trashy?"

"You look stunning. It's classy, unique, and just a bit sexy. Frank is going to throw you over his shoulder and take you home the minute the judge says 'Man and wife,' " Nancy teased. She looked at her robe-clad self reflected next to Callie's glamour in the full-length mirror and made a face at her reflection.

"Promise you'll help me shop for my wedding dress someday," she said suddenly. "I don't think I could pull off something quite this nontraditional, but I like your eye for detail."

"Of course I'll help you, but you could totally pull this off," Callie said, eying Nancy assessingly.

"Isn't it a little too pink for me?"

"You can wear soft pink. If it were a brighter shade it wouldn't suit you." Callie turned her buttons toward Nancy. "Get me out of this thing and you can try it on."

"I couldn't."

"I'm the bride and I say you can!" Callie declared. "Come on, Nan. You know you miss playing dress-up."

"That was more Bess's game than mine," Nancy said, starting in on the buttons. "On a more practical note, won't you be cold wearing this in November?"

"I have a little fake-fur-trimmed cloak, somewhere," Callie said. "And I'll have to add stockings and maybe gloves. I think I can make it work. What are you going to wear?"

"I'm not sure yet. I need to stop by home and browse through the fun section of my closet. I have a few fancy dresses that don't see daylight nearly enough, so I'm happy you're giving me an occasion to go all out." She patted Callie's shoulder. "There. You're free. Frank is going to hate these buttons, you know."

"It's a special occasion. He can work a little," Callie said lightly. She stepped out of the gown and laid it gently on the bed. "Your turn," she ordered, retrieving her sweats. "Wait. Tell me you're not naked under that robe."

"I'm not naked!" Nancy assured her, draping Joe's robe over the arm of the chair. She looked down, assessing her navy lace bra and purple polka-dotted panties. "I may not match, but everything's covered."

"That's a step up from this morning," Callie teased. She was back at the mirror, playing with her hair. "Up or down?"

"Up, definitely." Nancy stepped carefully into the gown, almost holding her breath. The material felt cool and silky against her skin.

"I think I'll skip the veil," Callie was saying.

A sudden knock at the door made both girls jump.

"If you're Frank, stay out!" Callie called quickly.

"It's Joe. May I come in?"

"Yes," Callie answered, just a moment before Nancy piped up with the opposite answer. "Wait!" Callie amended, but it was too late.

"Whoa," Joe said, pausing just inside the doorway. "I was not expecting that."

Nancy finished slipping her arms into the lace sleeves and pressed a hand to her sternum to hold the gown in place, feeling unwontedly bashful under his scrutiny. Joe, in contrast, had recovered his composure.

"I've had this dream before," he said mischievously. "But usually you're taking it off instead of putting it on. And usually I'm helping."

"Don't even think about it!" Callie said, stepping between them. "I do not want my wedding dress defiled by an X-rated game of dress-up."

"Damn," Joe said. "Would you be okay with an R? No? How about PG-13?"

"Joseph!"

"Relax, Cal. Keeping my hands to myself." He held them up in the air, proving his point. "Why is Nancy in the dress, anyway? Is she going to be your stunt double for the wedding?"

"Yes. Because we all know how dangerous it is to sign your name on a piece of paper," Callie said sarcastically.

Joe was staring at Nancy again. She looked back at him and shook her head slightly.

"I'm just playing dress-up, Joe."

"Do you want me to button you up?" His voice was a little low, a little rough. It gave Nancy butterflies.

She shook her head again. "No, thanks. I'm about to take it off."

"Okay."

"For the record, Nan," Callie said, "You look gorgeous, but you're right. That's not exactly your style."

"Thanks for letting me try it on," Nancy said, stepping very carefully back out of the gown. "It's exquisite. I can't wait to see you in it on Wednesday."

"I can't wait either," Callie said, zipping the beautiful garment back into its bag.

Nancy wrapped Joe's robe around herself once more and tied the belt tightly. "What tore you away from your bike, Joe?"

He handed her his cell phone. "Here, read this. You're going to love it."

"What is it?" Callie asked curiously.

"It's a message from a blocked number," Nancy said, her eyes still on the screen. "They claim to have information about the case, and they want to meet up. Joe, this is fantastic!"

"It sounds like a trap to me," Callie said. "These people already tried to kill Nancy once. Don't go!"

"I don't think it's from Allie or Diarmid. The tone is all wrong," Joe said.

Nancy nodded. "I agree. She has no reason to be coy with us, anyway."

"It still doesn't sound safe," Callie grumbled.

"Did you notice where our anon wants to meet?" Nancy said, handing Joe his phone back.

"The Moonlight Diner," he said, nodding.

"That's a strange coincidence," Nancy said.

Joe shrugged. "Small town. Not a whole lot of diner options. But hey, this could be a serious advantage."

"Nova!" Nancy said immediately.

"Nova?" Callie repeated.

"She waitresses there," Nancy explained.

"Yes. I remember that."

"She can be our inside man," Joe said. "We can ask her to keep an eye out and even let us know who's waiting for us."

Callie's expression cleared. "So even if it's a trap, you're not walking in blind."

"Exactly," Nancy said. She looked at Joe, her eyes bright with eagerness. "Are we doing this?"

"Was there ever any doubt?" He was already typing a reply message.

"And now we wait," Nancy muttered.

"No, we don't!" Joe said, laughing and holding out his phone to show her the message which had just come in. Nancy read it quickly.

"Tomorrow night," she said. "Great. What are we supposed to do until then?"

"Help me rebuild an engine?" Joe suggested.

Nancy shook her head. "Actually, I think I'll make some phone calls. I have some new questions for our former suspect pool. Unless you need me for anything, Cal? I don't want to run out on you."  
Callie waved her away. "No. You've been a big help. Go do your thing; I'm going to finish up that painting for you guys."

They all walked out into the living room together. Callie headed for her easel, and Nancy dug her phone out of her purse.

"Divide and conquer?" Joe offered.

"I don't mind if you want to go back to your engine."

"No way. We're partners on this."

"Okay," Nancy said, pleased. "Let's write up a list of questions and work our way through the list."

For the rest of the afternoon the little apartment was filled with the sounds of productivity: Callie humming to herself as she put the finishing touches on her painting, Nancy's and Joe's voices rising and falling as they contacted various people involved with the case. They wandered as they talked, crossing paths now and then, swapping notepads between calls or briefly pausing to discuss an interesting detail. And finally, when all their calls had been made, they met up at Joe's desk and looked over the information they had amassed.

"Bess told me that she and Tom are planning to pose as buyers for the stolen painting," Nancy began. "Allie is selling it through a local antique store. The owner does not appear to be any relation. Bess says they will record every second of their meeting with Allie and will do their best to make her say something incriminating. Did you get in touch with Keith?"

"He made bail," Joe said, nodding. "Faith bailed him out, actually."

"She's recovered her trust in him," Nancy observed. "Do you think it's possible she knows about Diarmid? She seemed very uncomfortable talking to me today."

"For all I know, the whole damn family is in on it. Lana was weird on the phone, too. It's like they're all trying to close off from us."

Sandra Ramirez's voice echoed in Nancy's head, suddenly. _"Is...is that who killed him? His own family?"_ Nancy frowned. "Maybe they are all in on it, somehow. Gargoylegrinning wondered the same thing when I spoke with her."

Joe groaned. "Shit, I hope not. I thought we had this thing locked down."

"We'll find out more tomorrow night. Everything is all arranged with Nova."

"As long as she's not in on it, too!" Joe said.

"That thought had crossed my mind," Nancy admitted. "I love this job, but it has made me so paranoid."

"We'll find out tomorrow," Joe echoed, setting down his pen. The detectives looked at each other for a moment, and no words were necessary. It was all there in the light in Joe's eyes, in the tilt of Nancy's chin: determination, impatience, their mutual joy in the pursuit of justice.

Callie poked her head in, then, to tell them that the painting was finished; and as they were admiring it Frank arrived home. They cooked dinner together, the four of them crowding into the small kitchen and getting in each other's way and somehow managing to produce an edible meal from the chaos. The day ended with lively conversation, lots of laughter, and an easy companionship. Nancy wasn't sure what was sweeter: the chocolate cheesecake Frank had picked up from a bakery on his way home, or the sense of belonging, of being with true family.

"Penny for your thoughts," Joe said quietly.

"I'm thinking Callie was right. I'm going to miss this," Nancy said.

"We're family, no matter where we all live," Callie said staunchly.

"I'll drink to that," Joe said, raising his beer. Frank lifted his water glass. True to his word, he refused to drink anything Callie could not partake in.

"To family," he said happily, and Callie and Nancy echoed him.

"To family."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen: Baiting the Trap

Nancy awoke, Monday morning, in a considerably less serene mood. She had slept poorly, due to a restless mind which would not stop going over her plans for the following day; and she felt as though she had just closed her eyes when she was jolted back into consciousness by a less-than-gentle nudge from Joe.

"What was that for?" she demanded, rolling over in time to see him finish untangling himself from the sheet and launch out of the bed. He stumbled to the dresser and jerked a drawer open, accompanying his actions with a litany of _sotto voce_ profanity.

"Get up, Nan. We're late," he said, in a voice still low and sleep-roughened. "Frank just stuck his head in to tell me he's leaving. We're supposed to meet everyone at the gallery in," he paused to glance at his watch, "Shit. Ten minutes."

Nancy sat up. "I'm up."

"You're naked," Joe pointed out, stepping hastily into a pair of jeans.

"I am aware of that!" Nancy told him. She threw back the blankets and stepped out into the chilly room to grab her overnight bag from the closet, adding her own muttered imprecations to Joe's swearing. He hated to be late. She knew that. She was not fond of tardiness, herself.

"What happened to the alarm you set?" she asked, turning her bag upside down and shaking its contents out onto the bedroom floor. "And where the hell are my jeans?"

"I haven't seen them. And I don't know. Maybe it glitched. Maybe we just didn't hear it." Joe disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Nancy to paw through her small pile of rumpled clothing. Her bag had contained the dress she had arrived in yesterday, a few sets of clean underwear, one very risque nightgown, a pair of athletic shorts, and one earring. Clearly her mind had not been on restocking her overnight bag the last few times she'd been home.

"Shit," she said fiercely, shoving the pile of useless garments back into her bag.

"Wear something else," Joe called through a mouthful of toothpaste. She heard him spit and rinse his toothbrush. "We've got to go!"

"It's not that simple!" Nancy called back, switching her attention to their dirty clothes basket.

Joe stepped back into the room and paused to look at her. "Don't you have some stuff in the closet?"

She shook her head and continued rummaging. "Just a couple dresses. Nothing useful for today. Please don't watch me dig through the laundry. I know I'm being gross."

Joe shrugged. He opened the desk drawer which housed his grandfather's Colt 1911, removed its safety lock, and slid the weapon into its holster. "This is why you need to use that empty drawer."

Nancy ignored him. She had just located her jeans at the very bottom of the pile. Trying not to think about how unsanitary they must be, she yanked them out and tossed them toward the desk chair. "Eureka. Grab me a shirt, please?"

"Your bag is right in front of you."

"I need to borrow one" she called, darting into the bathroom for her own ablutions. When she returned, Joe's Aerosmith t-shirt was waiting with her jeans and underthings. Joe himself leaned against the door, arms crossed stoically, and watched her get dressed.

"Socks," she muttered, delving desperately into an outer pocket of her bag. "I'm almost ready, Joe. What do you want?"

"I want you to use the damn drawer. This is ridiculous."

She sat up, holding one purple sock and one blue sock. They would have to do. "I don't usually have this problem, do I? I usually plan ahead. I just didn't think it through when I stayed over last night."

"But if you had more stuff here, you wouldn't have to plan all the time. What about shoes? Do you even have sneakers here?"

His words sparked a moment of dread before she realized that she had left her sneakers behind after their run the other morning. "Yes," she said, retrieving them from the closet.

"You're not going to lose your independence if you start keeping more clothes here," Joe told her. "It's okay. I want you here. I made space for you. Why are you so set on keeping your life separate from mine?"

"We don't have time for this conversation right now," Nancy said, tying her second shoe with an impatient jerk. The lace broke off in her hand. _Shit_. She threw the broken piece toward the wastepaper basket and stood up, ignoring the annoyance of the unlaced shoe.

"I'm not trying to separate our lives, Joe, I'm trying to keep my own life simple. I can't live scattered between two houses."

"You could live here," he blurted out, following her into the living room.

"What?"

"Just live here. You said you want to keep things simple. What could be simpler than that?" He was watching her face. She could tell that he was trying to keep his own expression neutral, non-threatening; but the look in his eyes was unmistakably hope. "You could take Frank's room after he leaves. We don't have to share a room if you don't want to."

"Please don't. Not like that," Nancy said, turning away to take her coat from its hook by the front door.

"Like what?"

"Like...like it's not a big deal. Like I'm here anyway, so I might as well keep hanging around." Nancy felt frustrated. She knew she wasn't expressing herself clearly. "I don't want to be a habit for you," she said, shaking her head. "Come on. Let's go."

*********************************

Nancy had hoped the drive over to River Heights would afford her the time to re-center, to work up some enthusiasm for the case and the work they were about to do toward solving it; but that was not to be. The thick clouds overhead had begun producing a treacherous, sloppy mix of rain and snow which made for poor visibility and even poorer traction. Though she trusted Joe's ability to drive safely under any conditions, Nancy couldn't help feeling tense as the truck crawled its way into town. Joe did not seem inclined to talk, and this suited her mood. She stared ahead, watching the road unfurl in front of them and silently berating herself for her ungracious response to Joe's offer.

 _He shouldn't have asked like that. Not while we were running late and already on edge,_ she thought, with some irritation.

The truck slid, suddenly, splaying out sideways across the lanes for a few heart-stopping moments before Joe eased it back under control. He glanced toward the passenger side of the cab.

"Okay?"

Nancy let out a shaky breath. "Yes. You?"

"It's slick. I'm gonna get on Hargrove at the light. It'll take longer, but the sand trucks usually go that way first."

"It's all right, Joe."

"I hate to keep everyone waiting." He relapsed into his silence, and Nancy into her brooding. It wasn't just Joe's unexpected offer that had her feeling unbalanced. Their investigation also weighed heavily on her mind. She was worried about the trap they were laying. Was the bait enough to interest Allie? Would anyone show up? And what if someone did? If they were right, it would be Diarmid; and Diarmid, if indeed it were he, had already killed once and attempted to kill again. Nancy was not terribly worried about her ability to take him on, under the right circumstances. But this case was different, in that she was not working alone. This trap would be Nancy and Joe's first real test as partners. Though she felt confident in their ability to take down a suspect without getting killed in the process, she was worried about the more psychological aspects of the job. They had to be able to communicate clearly, to make decisions without hesitation, to anticipate each other's movements and capabilities with complete clarity. Any errors in judgment would certainly have serious consequences. And overlaying that train of thought, like a particularly persistent mosquito, was the knowledge that they were running later by the second. Callie, Frank, and no doubt Chet as well, were all waiting for them to begin setting up their pretend art exhibition.

Nancy's phone chimed suddenly, startling her. She read the message and sighed. "Callie says Chet just arrived with the rest of the paintings," she told Joe.

"Tell her we'll be there in a minute." Joe said tersely. He sped up a little. They were in town, now, and while the roads were still messy, they had at least been salted.

"Oh, no," Nancy said, her heart sinking with a sudden realization. "What if this weather shuts down the airport? If Allie or Diarmid were planning to fly in to get this painting, they might not make it."

Joe eased the truck into a parking space in the little lot adjoining the art gallery Callie had arranged for them to borrow. He pocketed the keys and looked at Nancy. "That's not our problem right now. We have to operate under the assumption that our suspects are in the area already."

"Okay." Nancy pulled up the hood of her coat. "Let's do this, then."

"Wait." Before Nancy could step out of the truck Joe had dashed around to her side and reached in to scoop her up, bridal-style.

"Joe, stop it. What are you doing?"

"Keeping your feet dry, Drew. Don't worry, I won't make it a habit."

The uncharacteristic sarcasm in his voice sent a pang of remorse through her. Rather than meet his gaze Nancy looked down, watching his feet in their waterproof boots stride to the other side of the deep puddle the truck was sitting in. Only after he had set her down did she look up.

"You know I didn't mean it that way," she said softly.

"I thought we had come to an understanding." Joe looked hurt. "I love you, Nan, and I'd love it if you stopped bouncing between houses and stayed with me. Do you need a proposal first? Because I can do that."

"You're making it worse!" Nancy said, frustrated. "I don't want any of this to come from a sense of, of inevitability. I've been in that kind of relationship before. I took all the steps I was expected to take. I don't want us to be like that. Does that make sense?"

Joe stepped closer, blinking a snowflake off his eyelashes. "The way I see it, this is an organic development. Frank is moving out. You're sick of never knowing where you're going to spend the night. I'm fucking crazy about you and I want you in my life and in my bed," he said bluntly. "I can say all that in much more romantic terms if you'd like. I can write you a sonnet, or spell it out in roses. Hell, I can hire a string quartet and sing it to you."

Nancy was giggling, at this point, all the stress of the morning forgotten. She popped up on tip-toe and kissed him. "Sonnet," she said. "I'd like it in sonnet form."

"I'll give it a shot," Joe said, taking her hand. He have it a gentle tug, encouraging her to head toward the building.

"I'm sorry, Joe. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I should have realized why that would bother you," he said, reaching for the door.

"Don't put that on yourself. You're good, but you're not a mind-reader."

"Unfortunately," he agreed.

The interior of the art gallery was buzzing with activity. Nancy slipped her coat off and hung it up, looking around. Frank was doing something on his laptop toward the back of the long room. Callie was sorting through a large box of paintings. And Chet, his red hair plastered down with rain, was repairing a damaged picture frame.

Hearing the detectives come in, Callie looked up. "You made it!"

"How are the roads?" Frank called.

"What roads?" Joe quipped, heading over to help Frank with the electronics.

"Nancy, where do you want these?" Chet asked, holding up a particularly large canvas.

"Wow," Nancy said involuntarily, looking at the pile.

"Wow what? You said to bring as much of Iola's work as I could." Chet's freckled face looked anxious, now. "Did I bring the wrong stuff? Should I have brought less?"

"No, Chet, this is fantastic. I just had no idea how many paintings Iola had left."

"One of the boxes is my work," Callie explained. "And they're not all oil paintings. A lot of them are pencil sketches or watercolors."

Nancy knelt between her friends, glancing at the landscape painting on top of the closest box. "Thank you. Both of you. It means so much to me that you were willing to let us borrow these."

"Hey, you can't have a convincing art exhibition with no art," Callie said lightly.

"I'll start hanging stuff if you tell me where it all goes," Chet said.

"The only one the thief will care about is the forged Watson piece," Nancy said thoughtfully. "We'll hang that one back there, where we can get a nice clean camera angle on it. And we can put the rest up in whatever order we want."

"I'll take the forgery, then," Chet said, scrambling to his feet.

"It's on the reception desk!" Callie called after him.

"Are you okay, Cal?" Nancy asked, sorting through a stack of framed watercolors.

"I'm tired today. I'll be fine." Callie leaned in, looking at the pictures as Nancy flipped through them. "I'd almost forgotten how talented she was. Aren't these beautiful?"

Nancy nodded, though her attention was not fully on the artwork. "Please take as many breaks as you want. We have more than enough help here to take care of the heavy lifting," she urged.

"She's right," said Joe, who was passing by with a large electronics case. "All you have to do it sit back and tell us where to hang things."

"I wouldn't feel right doing that!" Callie protested.

"Joe, where did you put the pliers?" Frank yelled from the far corner.

"You had them last!" Joe yelled back, heading toward his toolbox.

Nancy gathered a few frames and stood up. "Seriously. Go easy on yourself," she told Callie, and moved toward the exhibition area to hang her selected pieces. The tension she had felt earlier was beginning to creep back around the edges of her consciousness. Their thief- their _killer-_ \- knew where the painting was, now. The trap could spring at any moment between now and the "close of exhibition" Tuesday evening.

 _At least we're ready for him, this time,_ she thought. Last time, Diarmid had caught her off guard, and she had still managed to fight him off. He would have no chance this time around.

The piece she was hanging caught her eye, suddenly: a pen-and-ink portrait of a much younger Joe, drawn with tender, meticulous strokes which betrayed the artist's love for her subject. Nancy did not have to look for a signature to know that this was Iola's work rather than Callie's. She felt a stab of jealousy, followed swiftly by remorse. Iola was dead. Nancy would not, could not, begrudge her the happiness she had shared with Joe.

Nancy glanced over at Joe, wondering, for the first time, what effect being surrounded by his dead girlfriend's artwork was having on him. But Joe seemed unburdened by these artifacts from his past. He and Frank were completely absorbed in getting their cameras set up. Both brothers were leaning over a tangle of wires and tools. Joe was gesturing and Frank was nodding and reaching for a screwdriver. It was a nice little picture of the bond between them and of their seamless working relationship, forged by years of joint detective work. Though this was Frank's day off, he had yet to utter one word of complaint about being here. Joe needed him, so here he was. Touched, Nancy turned back to her work.

The morning passed quickly. Nancy was just stepping back to admire the last painting she had hung, one of Callie's watercolors, when Chet approached her.

"Want to get out of here for a couple minutes?" he said. "I'm making a deli run. We're about finished here and I sure could use some lunch."

"That sounds really good," Nancy told him. "Just let me grab my purse."

"I have it right here," he said, handing it to her. "And I already asked everyone what they want. Let's go."

"You don't waste any time!" Nancy said, laughing.

"Is there something wrong with being efficient?"

"No. It's a good thing."

The temperature had dropped, and it was still snowing steadily. Nancy hopped up into the passenger seat of Chet's beloved jalopy and tried to relax, despite the springs which were threatening to poke through the upholstery.

"Your next project has got to be new seats for the old girl," she told Chet, who was easing the temperamental old car into gear.

"Yeah, yeah," Chet said dismissively.

There was silence for a few moments. Then Nancy impulsively spoke. "How did you know I needed a break?"

"I saw your face when you hung that portrait, earlier." Chet shrugged. "You guys never give me any credit. I've hung around detectives long enough for some of your habits to rub off on me."

"I'm sorry, Chet. I hope you don't think I feel resentful of Iola's artwork."

Chet was quiet for a moment, and his face was thoughtful. "I know what it's like, living up to her," he said finally. "I was in her shadow even when she was alive. I was the fat kid with the weird hobbies. She was popular, and talented, and pretty. And then, after...you know...well, dead people can do no wrong, you know?"

Nancy nodded. "I know."

"My parents didn't intend to, to _canonize_ her," Chet said, giving the steering wheel a thump to underline his choice of words. "But that's how it is. Saint Iola. Her old bedroom is one big shrine. But, Nancy, Joe doesn't worship her. He used to come by and sit in there and, I don't know, cry, or talk to her, or something. But he hasn't done that in years. He's made his peace with her. I don't know if you have."

"Sometimes I feel like I'm intruding," Nancy confessed. "She was my friend, too. And today, surrounded by her work and hearing you and Callie reminisce about the paintings, I felt really uncomfortable. I wonder what she would think about me and Joe."

"I think she'd be glad he found someone like you," Chet said, pulling into the deli's parking lot. "We all are. When he was with Vanessa, you could tell she was trying to change him. He talked differently, like he was filtering himself, and he sold his motorcycle and started smoking. With you, he's the same guy I grew up with, except he doesn't spend every weekend at a bar."

"Okay." Nancy took a deep breath and unbuckled her seatbelt. "That helps." She looked over at Chet. "What about you? Are you all right?"

"I made my peace a long time ago," Chet said. Nancy could tell that was all he wanted to say on the matter. She let the subject drop.


	20. Chapter 20

_Author's Note: Happy Holidays to all my readers!_

Chapter Twenty: Waiting

Just as Nancy and Chet were just re-entering the gallery, loaded down with a takeout bags, Nancy's phone rang.

"Of course," she muttered, starting to shuffle both bags into one hand so she could unzip her purse.

"Nan. Give it here," Chet interrupted. He had just opened the door. He stuck his foot in front of it now to prop it open and reached back to take her bags.

"Thanks." Nancy grabbed the door, gesturing for him to go on ahead while she answered the phone.

"Hi, Hannah. What's up?" she asked, pausing to scrape the snow off her shoes before following Chet into the delightful warmth of the gallery.

"I just wanted to check in with you, sweetheart."

"I'm fine," Nancy assured her. "How was your trip? Was the drive as bad as you were afraid it would be?"

"No, the roads were not slippery at all. I'm glad I went. It's always nice to see Elaine," Hannah said. "Oh, and Nancy, you'll never guess what I found at the grocery store across from her church!"

"Cherry Bakewells?" Nancy guessed.

"Yes!" Hannah said.

Nancy grinned. "Hannah, that's great! Thanksgiving is saved."

"Don't be flip with me, young lady. This is a triumph."

"Oh, I agree," Nancy said quickly. "I'm really glad you found them. I'll let Joe know we're off that case."

"And your other case?" Hannah asked. "How is that progressing?"

Nancy summed up the current state of affairs, trying to put more emphasis on the positive things and less on the "waiting for a criminal to show up" aspect of their preparations. But the housekeeper was not fooled.

"I should have just recorded myself saying this years ago, but I'll waste my breath and say it again: be careful," Hannah admonished.

"We are being careful. Most of us are armed," Nancy told her, doing a mental inventory of the weapons in the room. While Nancy herself relied on the pepper spray on her keychain and the self-defense skills she had learned from George, her friends did not share her minimalist habits. Joe had his gun, she knew, and she would have been willing to bet that Frank was carrying too. Callie had her concealed carry license- Frank had made sure of that- so it was entirely possible that she had her little revolver with her today. And Chet...well, Chet being Chet, if he had decided to come prepared he might be carrying anything from a homemade smoke bomb to a blowdart gun. His taste in weapons had always ranged more toward the peculiar than the practical.

 _Maybe I should get a gun. Or at least a taser_ , Nancy thought, absently rubbing a sore place on her shoulder. That might have saved me a few of these bruises. Frank and Joe had given her a few shooting lessons while they were teenagers, but she had never made the time to practice the skill.

"That doesn't sound reassuring. Are you expecting some kind of showdown?" Hannah's voice held a note of genuine anxiety.

"Not at all," Nancy said quickly. "If anything, we expect the thief to try to sneak in undetected. But we're ready in case anything goes wrong."

Hannah sighed. "All right," she said. "Now, here's the other thing I wanted to mention to you: if you should happen to have a free moment this evening, it would be nice if you stopped by. Your father and Camille are home, and I know it would make them happy to see you and talk about the engagement."

Nancy winced. "My conscience tells me I should have thought of that on my own."

"You would have thought of it before too much longer. We all know you're right in the thick of it right now," Hannah said kindly.

"We'll try to stop by this evening," Nancy promised.

"Okay, sweetie. And if you can't, please at least text one of us and let us know you're all right."

"I will, Hannah."

"All right. I'll let you get back to work now."

"Thanks. I'll see you later, I hope."

Everyone else had already gathered around the reception desk, where Chet had unpacked the food. Nancy's stomach growled loudly as she joined the throng to pick up her soda and the cup of soup she had ordered. She had not realized how hungry she was until she and Chet had stepped into the deli.

Callie had already retrieved her food and was sitting a little way down the room. "I reserved a table for you, Nan," she called, patting the floor beside her.

Nancy eased herself gently down to sit cross-legged beside her friend. "And this is such an exclusive restaurant, too. I don't know how you did it."

"Baby, I have connections. I could get you a seat on the floor of an art gallery any night of the week."

Nancy laughed. "I never realized our friendship came with perks like that." She ate a few spoonfuls of soup and looked around at the long room lined with artwork. "This place looks good," she said. "Especially your Watson replica. I can't believe you pulled that off so quickly."

"I'm still considering that art forgery career," Callie joked. "How long do you think I could hide that from Frank?"

"I think the challenge is too good to pass up," Joe said, taking a seat on the other side of Callie. He leaned against the wall and let his long legs sprawl out ahead of him. "Cameras are up and running, guys."

"I texted you all the link to the live feed. What are we hiding from Frank?" Frank asked, joining the group.

"Your fiancee is considering a life of crime," Joe said, taking a sip of Nancy's soda.

"Hey!" she protested half-heartedly.

"I know, I know. I just wanted a little caffeine."

Frank refused to be sidetracked by their brief exchange. His eyebrows were lifted in a very Fenton-like expression of mild concern. "Cal?"

"Don't worry, sweetie. I'm not going dark side just yet."

"That makes me feel so much better," Frank grumbled.

"George still drives that blue Jeep, right?" Chet asked suddenly. He was still standing at the reception area, adding a layer of potato chips to his sandwich.

"Yes," Nancy said. "Why?"

"She just pulled in. Someone in a blue Jeep did, anyway."

Nancy met Joe's inquisitive expression and answered it with a shake of her head. "No, she didn't tell me she was going to stop by, but I'm not surprised. It's been killing her to stay on the sidelines of this one."

"I hope she didn't bring Myra here," Callie said, reaching for her ginger ale. She had only taken a few bites of her food. "Are Bess and Tom back yet?"

"Not yet," Nancy said. "I think they fly out Wednesday."

George breezed in, then, shaking snow from her hat and wiping her shoes carefully on the mat. "Hey, gang. Don't tell me I missed the fun!"

"You missed hanging paintings, if you call that fun," Chet said, carrying his food over to join the group.

"Where's Myra?" Nancy asked.

"I handed her over to Tom's parents this morning. They're keeping her for the last day or so." George grinned. "I'm kid-free and ready for action. What can I do, Nance? Set-up? Surveillance? Put me to work."

"We're all on surveillance," Nancy told her. "We can add you to the roster if you'd like."

"Any shift, any time," George said immediately.

"That's not exactly how we're handling it," Frank chimed in. "We're not really doing a physical stakeout. Joe and I set up a live feed we can all monitor from our phones."

"And a motion sensor which will trigger text alerts, just to be safe," Joe added.

"Well, send me the link to the feed," George demanded. "I need to feel useful."

"Relax," Nancy told her friend. "Sit down. I'll even share my soup if you ask nicely."

George sat, but she shook her head at the soup Nancy was holding out. "Broccoli cheddar? No thanks."

"Your loss," Nancy said. "It's delicious."

"It's full of butter and cheese. You might as well just have an ice cream sundae for lunch." George was looking around as she spoke, taking in the paintings lining the walls. "The place looks good. Callie, I think your art deserves a real exhibition one of these days. You know, one that doesn't involve luring a murderer to justice."

"One of these days, maybe," Callie said, shrugging. She got to her feet, using Joe's shoulder for leverage. "Nan, did I give you guys the keys to this place?"

"You gave them to me," Joe answered.

"Are you heading out?" Frank asked, taking her re-wrapped sandwich from her and stowing it in the bag with his own leftovers. Callie nodded.

"I have an appointment with a client."

"The roads are really not great," George warned.

"Can you reschedule?" Frank asked quietly.

"I'd rather not," Callie said. "It's not very professional."

"I don't mind playing chauffeur. My Jeep handles much better than your car in this weather." George jumped up, fishing her keys out of her pocket.

"You really are desperate for action!" Nancy said.

"You have no idea. Next time Bess goes on vacation I'll nominate you to watch the kid. Then you'll understand."

"Kids, plural," Nancy reminded her friend. "Next time Bess gets a hankering for tropical beaches she's going to have to find a sitter for two little people."

"I'm not ready to think about that," George said, shuddering theatrically. "Ready, Cal?"

"Ready. If you're sure you don't mind."

"Not at all." George sketched a wave toward the group. "See ya, guys. Be careful out there. I'll have an eye on that video feed."

"Thanks, George!" Nancy called.

Callie gave her a hug before following George out into the cold. "See you later?"

"I'll probably stay at home tonight," Nancy said. "But you know I'll be around before too long."

"Okay. See you soon, then. And good luck."

Chet and Joe were deep in conversation when Nancy turned back to the group. She caught enough phrases to figure out that they were discussing a problem Joe had run into with the electrical system of his Indian Scout.

Frank stood and stepped toward her. "I think we're all set here," he said.

"I think so. Thanks again for giving us half your day off."

"I'm glad I could help." He fixed Nancy with a gaze half-somber, half-reassuring. "You're going to get the guy. You and Joe are a combination I would not dare go up against."

"Thanks, Frank. You know we couldn't do it without all of you." Impulsively, Nancy stepped forward and gave Frank a quick hug. He looked surprised.

"What's this for?"

"Because you're you," Nancy said, releasing him. "Chet, are you leaving?"

Chet had pulled his coat on and was digging through the pockets to find his hat and gloves. "I've got to get back to the shop. Jay's been covering for me all morning," he said, referring to his business partner. Jay Swift was the co-owner of Swift & Morton Automotive.

"Tell him we appreciate his sacrifice," Joe said.

"Sacrifice?" Chet snorted. "You know Jay. He's probably gone on two coffee runs and taken a nap in the back office." He had located his hat, finally, and pulled it firmly down over his ears. "We'll keep an eye on your camera feed," he promised.

"Thanks, man. We really appreciate this." Joe walked Chet to the door. Frank followed.

"I'm going to take off, too. See you in a bit?"

"Yeah, we're just going to lock up here," Joe told his brother. "Drive safe."

When they had gone the gallery seemed terribly empty. Nancy stood in the middle of the room and turned slowly, taking it all in. In contrast to her stillness and contemplation, Joe seemed bursting with energy. He prowled around, checking the perimeter, checking the lock on the side door, making faces into the cameras for their friends' benefit, and finally returned to Nancy's side.

"All set," he said. "I wish he'd walk in right now. I'm ready for him."

"What, right now?"

"Why not?" Joe danced his way into a fighting stance and aimed a few playful punches at an imaginary intruder. "Come on, Drew. Get out of your head and enjoy this a little."

"I'm trying," Nancy told him, trying to shake off her nervousness.

Joe sobered a little. "I do trust your instincts. Do you have a bad feeling about this setup?"

"Not exactly. It's probably nothing, Joe. I'm just nervous because last time I met up with Diarmid, things didn't go so well."

"This time, he's going to get what's coming to him," Joe said, cracking his knuckles in a gesture which managed to be absentminded and menacing all at once. His confidence was contagious. Nancy felt herself begin to relax.

"All right, Hardy. I know you're not going to hang around here throwing fake punches for the next..." she checked her watch, and groaned. "Five hours. What are we supposed to do for five hours?"

"I have an idea," Joe said, winking.

"Joe! Live camera feed."

"The cameras don't cover the janitor's closet, or the restroom, or-"

Nancy batted her eyelashes at him. "Oh, darling, you take me to the nicest places."

He laughed. "Okay, so that wasn't my most romantic moment." He leaned in and kissed her lightly. "That's your cue to tell me any place is romantic as long as we're together."

"You know I can never lie to you with a straight face." Nancy decided to change the subject. "Hannah called before lunch."

"Checking up on you?"

"And letting me know she found some Cherry Bakewells," Nancy said happily. "And she reminded me that Dad would appreciate it if I stopped by later to hear about the engagement."

A vaguely guilty expression passed across Joe's face. "Yes. That's a good idea. We should have thought of that."

"I told her we would stop by if we could. It really depends on how long our meeting goes, and what happens here at the gallery."

Joe looked thoughtful, now, rather than guilty. "Actually, Nan, your house would be a great place to wait out our virtual stakeout. It's right in River Heights. We can go straight there from the diner."

"And stay there until something happens. Perfect," Nancy said. She checked her watch again. "So now we just need to kill four hours and 50 minutes. Preferably in a way that doesn't involve the janitor's closet."

"Frank wants me to meet him at our parents' place and work on organizing our stuff in the barn," Joe said. "Although to be honest, I think my idea sounds more fun," he concluded.

"That's not really an idea so much as a predilection," Nancy told him, taking his hand. He used it to gently tug her closer to him.

"Can you blame me? Look at you," he said softly, kissing her.

"I'm trying not to. I'm dressed like a college kid who ran out of quarters for the laundry machines," Nancy joked self-deprecatingly.

"That's not what I see," Joe told her.

"I know." Nancy rested her head against his chest. She felt a little shy with him after their conversation that morning. The enormity of Joe having asked her to move in with him would have weighed heavily on her mind had she not been so distracted with the case. As it was, the idea buzzed at the back of her mind, both tantalizing and confusing her.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, stroking her hair.

"I'm thinking it's been a hell of a day, and it's a long way from over," she said, lifting her head. She kissed him again, suddenly, feeling a spark in her chest: a bubble of nervous energy, of tension and adrenaline and desire. He responded to it immediately, cupping her body flush against his and sliding one hand under her shirt to press against the bare skin of her back. Nancy moaned softly.

"Maybe the closet doesn't sound so bad," she murmured.

"Are you serious?" Joe said, capturing her lips for another long kiss.

"I will be if you keep that up," Nancy told him. She was just reaching up for a third kiss when a phone chimed loudly. They sprang apart, immediately ready for a very different sort of action.

"What's going on?" Nancy asked. She could detect no motion at the door or window.

"Nobody's here. I got a text," Joe said ruefully. He turned his phone to show her the message, which was from Chet.

 _Does "live camera feed" mean anything to you, Little Hardy?_

Nancy could feel herself blushing. "Tell him we're really sorry."

"Don't worry about it, Nan. It was just a kiss."

"Several kisses," she corrected, throwing away her soup cup and retrieving their coats. Joe was typing a reply message. He finished up and shoved his phone into his pocket so he could help Nancy into her coat.

"Thanks," she murmured.

He reached for his own coat. "I let Chet know he's the closest one of us to the gallery for the time being. And I reminded him that he wouldn't need to feel so jealous if he would just ask that girl out already."

"Joseph, it's not good form to antagonize a friend while they are in the process of doing you a favor."

Joe just shrugged. He had stopped to lock the gallery door behind them. When he spoke his words came out on a plume of frosty breath. "I know Chet. You've got to dig the spurs in or he'll never take action. Jumping Jehosaphat, it's cold out here! Come on."

"I'm coming!" Nancy said good-naturedly. "No need to use your spurs on me."

Enough snow had come down while they worked to blanket the parking lot in a thick layer of white. Nancy stepped gingerly through it, getting a shoe-full of the cold stuff despite her best efforts. She waited for Joe to back the truck out of the half-frozen puddle before climbing in. Snow in the shoes was bad enough; she was not going to add icy slush to the mix.

"I should've come out earlier and warmed the truck up," Joe said, fiddling with the controls as though he could make the old truck's heater work any faster.

"No worries," Nancy said, dumping snow out of her shoe before pulling her door closed. As he pulled the truck out of the parking lot, she took a deep breath.

"Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll let you know. About moving, I mean. If you meant it."

"I did."

"I need to think."

He nodded. "Take all the time you need. I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"Am I still getting my sonnet?"

"Oh yeah. And it's going to be a masterpiece." His expression had shifted to that cocky grin she loved so much. Nancy couldn't help smiling back even as she rolled her eyes at him.

"Watch the road, Shakespeare."

Though it was still snowing lightly, the roads looked better than they had that morning. Plow trucks and sanders had clearly been out in force, at least along the main roads they could follow from the gallery to the Hardys'.

Fenton was shoveling the front steps when Joe pulled in, bumping over the ruts left behind by a snowplow to park next to Frank's car.

"Why isn't Frank doing that?" Joe yelled, opening Nancy's door for her. "You're clear, Nan. No puddles this time."

Fenton straightened up and leaned on his shovel. "He's digging himself a path to the barn. Hello, Nantucket!"

"Hi, Mr. Hardy!" Nancy's eyes sparkled with laughter. "I'm a little disappointed. You've used that one already."

"Oh, geez, I must be getting old. I'll come up with something better next time," he promised. "What's the occasion, son? It's not every day both my boys drop in."

"It's Barn Day," Joe said. Fenton nodded. Nancy raised an eyebrow.

"Barn Day," Fenton explained, "is what we call it when Frank gets a bee in his bonnet about all the junk the boys have stored in the barn. Once a year or so he'll rope Joe into going in there and helping him clear it out."

"That's the idea, anyway. But I swear all we ever do is move stuff around." Joe shrugged. He looked more philosophical than annoyed about the whole thing.

"Frank keeps things to organized at home," Nancy said, puzzled.

"He'd like the barn to be organized, too, but I'm not sure it's possible. We've got our junk in there, Dad's junk, Grandpa's old farming junk..." Joe waved a hand expressively. "You get the picture. Anyway, we should probably get to it."

"Nancy doesn't want to shift crap around in that cold barn," Fenton said authoritatively. "I'm sure Laura would love some company. Why don't you head inside?"

"I came to help," Nancy said politely. "I really don't mind."

Joe put a hand on her shoulder. "Do you really want to be around Frank in one of his organizing moods?" he joked. He lifted his hand and lightly brushed her cheek. "At least go in and say hi to Mom first. You can always come out in a little while," he suggested.

His gesture had been subtle, but Nancy understood his message. He had touched one of the fading bruises on her face, reminding her that she was still injured and that they had promised one another to go easy on themselves. Nancy hesitated for a second, battling her innate stubbornness, before she realized that she did not really want to fight him for a chance to move dusty machinery around in a cold, dark barn.

"Good point," she answered, catching his hand as it lowered and giving it a squeeze. "You boys have fun."

Joe gave her a quick salute and then loped across the yard toward the barn, ignoring Frank's neatly-shoveled path. Fenton courteously took Nancy's arm.

"Come on inside before you freeze. I can't remember the last time we had weather like this before Thanksgiving."

"Me neither," Nancy said. "It's beautiful, but it's not exactly the best timing."

"At least they got the roads cleared quickly." Fenton took Nancy's coat. "More company, Laura!" he called.

Mrs. Hardy's voice drifted to them from somewhere within the house. "Wonderful! I could use an extra pair of hands in the dining room."

Fenton stopped in his tracks. "I just remembered some paperwork I need to finish. Tell her I'm in my study, please."

"What is she going to make me do?" Nancy whispered. Clearly, Fenton was dodging some chore his wife wanted him to help with. But he just shook his head at her.

"Sorry, Nan."

Shaking her head, Nancy moved down the hall toward the dining room. The sound of a door closing in her wake confirmed that Fenton had made good on his flight attempt.

"Hi, Mrs. Hardy," Nancy called, fighting back a laugh.

Laura Hardy straightened up and set a tray of silverware on the dining room table. "Nancy!" she said, beaming. "How are you, sweetie?"

"A little wary," Nancy confessed.

"Did Fenton run off on you?"

"He scampered like a frightened rabbit. What horrible thing are you going to ask me to do?" Nancy asked, smiling.

"I've just started polishing up the good silver to use on Thanksgiving," Mrs. Hardy said. "I don't think it's the worst job around. You're certainly not obliged to help, but I think it might do you some good."

Nancy sat down at the table and helped herself to a cloth and some polish. "I'd be glad to help. How did you know I needed a job to do?"

"I've been married to a detective for over 30 years, and I've raised two more of them. You're an open book to me, dear. Are you at a critical point in the case?"

"Very critical, and very suspenseful," Nancy told her.

"Well, this will help settle those nerves," Mrs. Hardy promised.

Polishing silver had never been Nancy's favorite household task, but it was better than whatever Frank and Joe were doing out in the barn, so she set to it with good will. After a few minutes of work and conversation she realized that the tension headache behind her eyes was ebbing away. The work was simple, rhythmic; almost zen, really. While the work itself anchored her body, its simplicity allowed her mind to relax.

"What's that?" Mrs. Hardy asked after some time, pointing to Nancy's phone. She had laid it on the table beside her, with the live camera feed pulled up.

"That is our stakeout," Nancy said, and she explained about the security cameras. Mrs. Hardy looked impressed.

"I never cease to be amazed at the tricks they come up with. This is much better than the old-fashioned kind of stakeout. But what if someone does show up while you're all the way over here in Bayport?"

"Then we call the River Heights police and notify them of an intruder, take screenshots for ID purposes, call Chet because he's just down the road, and get over there as fast as we can," Nancy said. "My hunch is that our guy will come later, though. Maybe even overnight."

Laura shivered. "No matter how many times I watch this play out, it's still terribly thrilling."

"You mean you're really not bored with the whole thing?"

"How could it get boring? I'm just as invested in these cases as you detectives are, I think." Mrs. Hardy set down a teaspoon. "You, Fenton, my boys- you're doing very good work. Essential work. I admit to growing weary of the constant peril to those I love. But I couldn't walk away from this life if I tried."

Her speech echoed Callie's confidences from the day after Nancy's attack. _I left Frank, once...I thought it would be easier, being away from him, but it wasn't._ Nancy thought about Laura Hardy and Callie, about Chet and Bess: none of them loved the danger, but they had always been staunch in their support. Even adventurous George had been caught up in some things beyond her comfort level.

"I don't believe we could do the work we do if it weren't for people like you," Nancy said slowly.

"No," Mrs. Hardy agreed. "But that holds true no matter what your career looks like. We all need each other for balance and support." She rose, looking apologetic. "Excuse me, honey. I'll be right back. I need to switch some laundry from the washer to the dryer."

Nancy worked in peace for a few minutes before she began to feel the unmistakeable, skin-crawling sensation of being watched. In a controlled movement that did not betray her discomfort she looked around- and found Aunt Gertrude standing in the doorway, frowning at her.

"Hi, Aunt Gertrude. How are you?" Nancy said politely, wondering why one scrawny old woman had the power to unnerve her in a way that hardened criminals would have envied.

"About as well as can be expected, thank you," Gertrude said dryly.

Nancy set down a silver teaspoon and picked up the next one from the pile. "Are you looking forward to Thanksgiving?"

"I don't care to make small talk."

 _Okay, then._ Nancy returned her attention to her work.

"I've written Frank out of my will, you know. If Miss Shaw was expecting her little game to end in a pot of gold, she's going to be sadly disappointed. You can tell her that."

Nancy just about jumped out of her chair. "Her little game?" she repeated incredulously.

"I agree. The stakes were ludicrously high."

"I assure you, Callie would never play games with Frank. She loves him."

Gertrude had been picking at one of the buttons on her cardigan for the last several minutes. It gave way suddenly, slipping out of her grasp and bouncing away under the antique shelving unit which held Laura Hardy's heirloom china. Gertrude looked at Nancy, and her eyes were curiously blank.

"Go find it, Min. Your arms are longer. Mother will scold if I've lost another one."

Was she having a flashback? Was she a child again? Nancy half-rose to go after the button, thinking that the best policy would be to appease the old woman.

"Where are you going?" Gertrude barked. She was herself again, a peppery old woman, and her eyes were shrewd and suspicious. "Are you leaving already? Those spoon handles are tricky. Did you make sure to get right into the niche there at the end?"

"Y-yes." Nancy was completely off-balance at this point, and unsure which persona she was addressing. To her everlasting gratitude Laura returned from the laundry room just then.

"Gertrude, I didn't hear you get up," she said cheerily. "Can I get you a drink or a snack?"

"I'm not a child," Gertrude snapped. "I'm going to make a cup of tea. Would anyone else care for some?"

"Tea sounds lovely," Laura said calmly. As soon as Gertrude was out of the room she looked at Nancy.

"Was she harassing you?"

Nancy shook her head. "She seemed very muddled."

Laura sighed. "She knows something is wrong. I believe it's beginning to frighten her."

"I understand. I'd be frightened, too." Nancy paused. "She was complaining about Callie, and then suddenly it was as though she were a child again. She called me 'Min.' "

"That was their sister's name. Minerva. She and Gertrude were born just a year apart and they were very close growing up. She passed away in her teens, I believe. Fenton was a small child at the time."

"How sad," Nancy said softly.

Gertrude re-joined them shortly with a pot of tea and a small plate of cookies. Between the three of them they made short work of the remaining silver. Gertrude was pleasant enough, and made no more slips into either cruelty or childhood, but Nancy still felt on edge around her. She was relieved when Frank and Joe came trooping in, red-cheeked with cold and exertion.

Joe leaned over the back of his mother's chair to give her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Aunt Gert."

"Hello yourself," Laura said. "Why are you perspiring? Could it be that you two actually did some serious work out there?"

"We found an old set of weights," Joe explained happily.

"And you've been working out instead of cleaning," Mrs. Hardy guessed.

"That's not true. We did work out, but we also organized the whole loft," Frank said.

"May we borrow Nancy?" Joe asked, grabbing a cookie.

"You may have her outright. I release her from her servitude," Mrs. Hardy said benevolently. "Thank you, Nancy. You've been a big help."

"No, thank you," Nancy said honestly. "I enjoyed it. Why do you need me, Joe?"

"We still have an hour before we need to head out. Come upstairs and play Mario Kart with me and Frank."

"Deja vu!" Nancy joked. "How long has it been?"

"A couple years," Frank said. "Don't tell me you forget how. We spent half our adolescence playing that game."

"And the other half giving me grey hairs," Mrs. Hardy scolded affectionately. "Go on up, children. The system is all hooked up in Joe's old room."

Nancy stood up. "All right. Are you guys sure you want to challenge the reigning queen of the console?"

"That is not how I remember it!" Joe scoffed. He led the way upstairs to his childhood bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. Frank and Nancy followed at a more sedate pace.

"Do you feel twelve again?" Frank joked.

"I don't think I ever felt this tired when I was twelve," Nancy told him.

Joe poked his head out into the hall. "Come on, guys. Pick up the pace a little."

Nancy always felt a pleasant sense of nostalgia when she stepped into Joe's old bedroom. Unlike Frank's room, which had been transformed into a guest suite, Joe's room still looked much the way it had while they were growing up. The walls were bare, and a stack of cardboard boxes marked "Ski Stuff" and "Christmas Decorations" filled the space between the bed and the closet, but the twin bed was neatly made with Joe's old comforter. Nancy went straight to the bed and sat cross-legged on it to watch the boys set up the video game.

"Why is that thing still hooked up?" she asked idly.

"Callie and I play sometimes after family dinner," Frank said, handing her a controller.

"I suspect Mom and Dad play it," Joe said. "They won't admit it, though."

Frank laughed. "Shall we dust for fingerprints?"

"Another time. I want to remind the queen of the console, here, who the real reigning champion is."

By the end of the hour, Nancy felt more light-hearted than she remembered feeling in a while. Frank was winning, Nancy was a close second, and Joe's excuses were becoming more outrageous by the minute.

"Face it, little brother. You've lost your touch," Frank said finally, setting aside his controller.

"I don't think so," Joe retorted, his eyes on Nancy's smiling face. She felt one twinge of suspicion- Was he losing on purpose?- and then the feeling got shuffled aside as Joe offered her a hand up.

"Time to go?" Frank asked.

"Time to go," Joe confirmed. "Ready, Nan?"

"Ready." And she really was. Her nerves had settled. She was beginning to feel the familiar sense of exhilaration that came with making progress. Joe was quiet, now, but she could sense the same confidence and power in him. They said their goodbyes quickly and headed out to the truck.

"I'll text Nova and make sure she's ready for this," Nancy said as they pulled out onto the road. It was nearly dark already. The snow had stopped, the roads were clear, and above them the first stars were beginning to shine, their serenity an unsettling counterpoint to Nancy's surging pulse.

"Times like this, I wish I had a helicopter," Joe said. "Or a jetpack."

"Or wings!" Nancy said, nodding. "Who do you think we're meeting?"

Joe groaned. "We've been around and around this. I still say it's Faith."

"Why would she go anon?"

"Why did she lie to you in the first place? She's a secretive person."

Nancy shook her head. "I think it's someone new. Someone we haven't really dealt with. And I can't wait to find out what they have to say."

"That, we agree on," Joe said fervently. He gave the truck a little more gas. Only a few more miles and a few more minutes separated them from the Moonlight Diner and another piece of their puzzle.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One: Revelations

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared for our final approach to the Moonlight Diner. Please stow away all personal belongings and return your seats to the upright and locked position," Joe intoned, flicking on his signal light before making the turn into the diner's parking lot. "On behalf of our flight crew, I'd like to thank you for choosing Hardy Airlines."

Nancy's phone vibrated in her hand, interrupting her laughter. "Hey, pilot, we're receiving a transmission from the ground crew," she said, skimming the text message.

"Is it Nova? What'd she say?" Joe asked, dropping the goofball act.

"Um..." Nancy scrolled back to the top of the message and read it out verbatim. " 'Subject is a young blonde female. Arrived alone, looks nervous, not waving any weapons around. Operation is a go. Over and out.' Was she this melodramatic in high school?"

"Yeah, she's always been an oddball," Joe said, pocketing his keys. "Blonde female, huh?"

"Yeah, I know, that sounds like Faith. Don't gloat," Nancy grumbled. She popped her door open but hesitated, watching Joe check the safety on his Colt.

"All good?"

"All good. Let's do this."

They headed for the diner, moving with the seamless confidence of a team which has been honed by danger and experience. Nancy had lost count of how many times she and Joe, with or without Frank, had walked into trouble together. While Nova's text seemed to indicate that they were not walking into trouble tonight, neither of them had let down their guard yet.

The Moonlight was considerably busier tonight than it had been during their last visit. Nancy scanned the room, vaguely hearing the hostess offering them a table and Joe explaining that they were meeting a friend.

"See anyone we know?" Joe murmured, resting a hand lightly in the small of Nancy's back to guide her forward. Nancy pressed back into that hand for a moment, communicating her astonishment.

"Back left corner," she murmured back. "Jenny Rodanski. And she does seem to be alone."

Joe whistled softly. "Now that's an interesting development."

-

Jenny jumped when the detectives slid into her booth.

"I thought you weren't going to come," she said in a strained voice. The table in front of her was littered with little balled-up pieces of straw wrapper.

"Why would we stand you up?" Nancy said, moving deeper into the booth so that both she and Joe had a clear view of the rest of the diner. There would be no unpleasant surprises tonight.

"I don't know." Her fingers seemed to be moving independently of the rest of her body. They tore off another bit of straw wrapper and began twisting it as she spoke. "I wanted to meet with you alone, Nancy."

"This is my partner. You can tell him anything you wanted to tell me."

"Joe Hardy," Joe said, reaching across the table to shake Jenny's hand. "I'm mostly harmless."

Jenny looked neither amused nor convinced. She addressed herself to Nancy again. "You have to promise not to tell anyone about this meeting. Maggie thinks I'm at a computer design seminar."

"We're detectives, not hall monitors," Joe said. "Let's hear it."

Jenny hesitated. She still looked wary of Joe. Nancy suppressed a sigh. There were two angles of approach to this type of person: hand-holding or confrontation. And Nancy was not in the mood for coddling an informant. She leaned in and made eye contact with the younger woman.

"We're a team, Jenny. You can tell both of us what's on your mind, or we can walk out of here now. Your choice."

"No, wait! Don't go. I have to tell somebo-." Jenny broke off with a guilty little jump. Their waitress was approaching.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite customers!" Nova exclaimed.

"I bet you say that to all your tables," Nancy teased.

"I have to keep those tips rolling in somehow," Nova said cheerfully. "What can I get you, Nancy?"

"I'll have a cappuccino, please," Nancy said, handing over her unread menu.

Nova turned to Joe. "Let me guess: the usual."

"I have a usual? This is awesome. Nan, we have got to make this a weekly thing."

"You're gonna have to spell it out for me again, hon," Nova said, pulling out her order pad. "That milkshake had about a thousand ingredients."

"Double chocolate, with a shot of coffee...ah, crap, I can't remember the whole thing. Sprinkles, whipped cream, and cherries on top?" Joe guessed.

"I believe Oreo crumbles were involved," Nancy suggested. "And possibly hot fudge."

"I'll just have them throw in anything chocolate-based. Biscotti, brownies, chocolate liqueur..." Nova said. She tucked her pencil behind her ear and turned to Jenny. "I'll get you a refill on that Diet Sprite. Would y'all like to hear the soup of the day?"

Jenny shook her head. "No. Thanks."

Nancy shook her head as well. "I think that's all for now. Thanks, Nova."

"All righty, then. Be back in a jiff."

"I should've asked her to add peanut butter," Joe said belatedly.

"Next week," Nancy told him. "Jenny, I think you were about to tell us why you asked to meet up?"

Jenny's eyes widened. "Oh. Um, okay. I heard that Keith is out of jail."

"Yes. He made bail."

"But how?" Jenny burst out. Her reluctance to speak was gone. Now she seemed unable to stop the words from pouring out. "It's totally wrong. He had the murder weapon. The fucking _murder weapon_. Why would they let him out? What if he does it again? They have to-"

"Jenny- Jenny-!" Nancy had to say it twice, loudly, to cut off the girl's flow of words.

"Why are you so sure Keith did it?" Joe asked.

"Look, I know stuff about Keith." Jenny was tearing her straw wrapper again, her movements jerky and frustrated. "He's not a great guy. Faith thinks he's, like, this big puppy who would never hurt her. She has this stupid blind spot about guys she's sleeping with."

"So, Keith is a jerk. How does that make him a murderer?" Nancy asked.

"I just said, I know stuff about him. I know he's working for the people who have the paintings now. He's the one who stole them and killed Brendan."

Joe cleared his throat. "Can you give us names?"

"What names? Keith is the murderer," Jenny insisted.

Nancy and Joe exchanged a glance. She's covering for someone.

"How deeply would you say Maggie is involved with this?" Nancy asked with sudden inspiration. Her reward was immediate. Jenny's fingers slipped from the last section of her straw wrapper and her hand knocked into her glass, tipping ice and Diet Sprite across the table. Joe grabbed for a stack of napkins to stem the flow while Nancy righted the glass.

"I'd say she's in it pretty deep," Joe said with good humor.

"She's not- I mean, she didn't-" Jenny broke off, swallowing hard against some rising emotion. Anger? Panic? Nancy watched her face, intrigued. "I- I don't want to talk about Maggie."

"If it helps, we're reasonably sure Maggie did not steal the paintings herself. Was she involved with planning the theft?" Nancy guessed.

"That's not- No. Keith did it," Jenny said, reverting to her main point. "I'm positive it was him. He's the one who mailed the paintings to Hawaii. He works for my cousin's girlfriend, who works for our relatives in Hawaii."

"Do you know when he started working for them?" Joe asked.

"A few months ago, I think. My cousin, Diarmid?" She looked to Nancy, waiting for her nod before continuing. "He caught Keith stealing money from Brendan last semester. Keith's been working for Allie ever since."

"Blackmail," Nancy said thoughtfully.

"Allie isn't just working for your relatives. She is your relative," Joe told Jenny. "She's your cousin."

"But she's dating Diarmid! Does he know she's our cousin?" Jenny sat for a minute, absorbing this. She frowned, and opened her mouth to say something- but closed it again as Nova approached with their drinks.

"I'm sorry, y'all, I would've had these out a lot quicker if somebody hadn't ordered the most complicated shake in the history of milkshakes," she teased, handing a tall glass to Joe. "Try not to drink it all at once. There's so much chocolate in this, it's borderline hazardous. We're thinking of adding it to the regular menu and calling it the 'PMS Special.' "

"That's not a bad idea!" Nancy said, reaching over to steal one of the cherries off the precarious tower of whipped cream crowning the beverage. "Offer it in a to-go cup, with an order of those sweet potato fries on the side. You'll make a fortune."

"Girl, I like the way you think. You let me know when you get sick of sleuthing around with this big lummox, and we'll go into the restaurant business together," Nova said, deftly placing Nancy's coffee and Jenny's Sprite in front of them.

"I'll consider it," Nancy agreed.

"Fair enough. Let me get those wet napkins out of your way. Can I get anybody anything else?"

Joe released his straw long enough to shake his head. "I think we're set. This is perfect. Whatever you put in there, write it down."

"Will do," Nova promised. "All right, folks. Enjoy. Just flag me down if you get hungry."

When she was gone, Jenny pushed her new glass away impatiently. "What you said, before, about Allie? That's nasty. But that's not the point. The point is, they had no right to let Keith go. He's going to do it again. I need you to stop him."

Nancy was losing patience with the girl's repetition. "What makes you think there's going to be another murder?"

"The paintings Brendan found? They weren't the whole inheritance. Somebody dug up another one. Allie has to know about it. She'll send Keith to get it for her, and he'll kill again if anyone else gets in his way."

"In other words, one of your family members is also planning to steal the painting from the gallery tonight," Joe said. Again, Jenny visibly jumped.

"I didn't say that!"

"Jenny," Nancy said soothingly. "Relax. We're not looking for a scapegoat, here. We're just after the truth. I don't know what to tell you about Keith, though. He made bail, and he has an alibi for the night of the murder. We have no reason to believe he is a threat to anyone."

"Which are you going to believe? An alibi, or a bloody murder weapon hidden in his bed frame?" Jenny demanded.

"In his bed frame, huh?" Joe said mildly- too mildly. He reached for a spoon to scoop up his melting whipped cream.

"Yeah. Tell me how he can walk away from that one."

"That's not where the bayonet was found, Jenny."

A flicker of uncertainty showed in her eyes. "But...but that's where it was. I mean, that's where Faith told me she saw it."

"Faith told me she saw it lying on the floor under the bed," Nancy said.

"It must have fallen from where you wedged it," Joe added, scooping up another bite of whipped cream. Nancy touched his knee, gently, under the table, to ground herself. She knew this mood and found it slightly unnerving. He was somehow managing to radiate pure menace from behind a completely innocuous facade. It made Nancy's skin crawl, and she could see that it was affecting Jenny as well. The girl had been nervous before, twitchy and unsure of herself; but now she was rigid and wide-eyed with real fear.

"You framed him, didn't you," Joe went on, inexorably. "You did a damn good job, too. There was nothing on that bayonet to trace it back to you."

"It's not framing if he's guilty!" Jenny cried. "I was just trying to help. Nobody seemed to be getting anywhere. Not Nancy, not the cops..." Her voice shook and trailed off.

"Where the hell did you find the murder weapon?" Joe demanded.

Jenny turned pleading eyes to Nancy again, looking for sympathy. "I just...found it."

"Who are you protecting, Jenny?" Nancy asked.

"My family, from a murderer." Jenny's hands balled into fists, suddenly, and the fear in her eyes turned into something akin to defiance. "Tell me you wouldn't do the same, in my place," she demanded.

Nancy had not pinned Jenny as the type to fight when cornered. _She has some backbone, after all!_ , she thought. Aloud, she simply said "No, I wouldn't." She reached for Joe's knee again and tapped it, letting him know to keep going. Jenny was clearly less comfortable with Joe than with Nancy. A little more pressure, and she might abandon the fight. Judging by the gleam in Joe's eyes, he was happy to comply.

"I think it's beautiful," he said. "Did you hear that, Nancy? She loves her family so much, she's going to take the rap for the murder and the theft."

"No," Jenny said, startled.

"That isn't what you meant?" Joe asked, all puzzled innocence.

"No!" Jenny said again.

"Then you are going to tell us who had the murder weapon," Joe said.

Jenny shook her head. "It wasn't any of us. We didn't do it."

"You just confessed to placing the bayonet in Keith's room," Joe said. "If you don't tell us where you got it, you're going down for this."

"You can't- Nancy, tell him he can't do this!"

Nancy shook her head. "If you don't cooperate, it won't look good for you. You're already on the hook for tampering with evidence, giving false testimony, and obstruction of justice. Just tell us where you found the bayonet."

Jenny's mouth hung open for a minute. "This isn't fair."

"Neither is framing your cousin's boyfriend for murder," Joe growled.

"Okay. Fine. It was at my mom's house. But she had nothing to do with this!"

"I don't buy that for a second, Jenny," Nancy said. "Tell us about your mother's role in the theft."

Jenny was crumbling, now. Her hands were shaking too hard to continue shredding her straw wrapper. "She knew about it," she whispered.

"Knew about it, or planned it?" Joe asked.

"Sh-she planned it with her cousin in Hawaii," Jenny said sullenly. "We were supposed to get half. That was the deal. B-but then Allie mailed the paintings to Hawaii before we could s-sell them. They double-crossed us. And n-nobody, nobody was supposed to get killed!"

"Start from the beginning on that one. Tell us about the deal," Nancy said calmly, handing the girl a napkin to wipe her eyes.

The story came out disjointedly, with lots of disclaimers. All Jenny knew, or claimed to know, was that Lana had been feeding information about Brendan's endeavors to a cousin in Hawaii, on the understanding that they would take what he found and split the inheritance. The Hawaiian branch had sent Allie out to act as their agent, but had not informed Lana that she was a family member. Instead of selling the painting locally and sharing the profit, Allie had acquired the paintings for herself and vanished, with the disgraced traitor Diarmid in tow.

"And now you're telling me Allie is actually one of our relatives, which makes everything even worse," Jenny finished. "He's sleeping with his cousin? And she knows she's his cousin?"

"I don't think Diarmid knows she's his cousin," Nancy said, as if that helped anything. There was a pause, during which Nova breezed up and set the check on the table.

"I'll just leave this here. No rush," she said pleasantly.

"Thanks, Nova," Nancy said automatically.

The waitress seemed to sense that this was not a good moment to renew their banter. She withdrew discreetly. But her brief intrusion had derailed the growing tension. Joe slid to the end of the booth, his movements quick and decisive.

"Okay, Jenny," he said. "This is how things are going to go down. You're going to hand Nancy your car keys. You're going to leave a nice, generous tip for Nova. And then you're going to walk out to the parking lot with me, calm and easy, and take a little ride with me."

Jenny looked terrified again. "W-where are you taking me?"

"River Heights Police Station," said Nancy, who had picked up on Joe's intentions. He was the one with the gun, so he would ride with the suspect.

"But I helped you!"

"Yes, and we're everlastingly grateful, but that doesn't change the fact that you're up to your ears in criminal conspiracy," Joe said pleasantly.

"Bastard," Jenny hissed. "Nancy, tell him it's not happening. I deserve, what's it called, immunity."

Nancy shrugged. "He's right, Jenny. Would you rather we called the cops and had them walk you out of here in cuffs?"

"You bitch! Fuck you!" Jenny snapped. Had she been Maggie, in this position, Nancy would have expected to have to call the police. But Jenny was not the strong-willed twin. Jenny was the pragmatic twin. She weighed her options for a moment, seething with anger; and in the end she pulled a twenty-dollar-bill from her clutch and slapped it down on the table, glaring daggers at Joe.

"Good enough?"

"It'll do. Shall we?" He stood, smiling pleasantly, and offered her his arm.

"Bastard!" she said again, jerking away from him. Nancy stifled a laugh, finished her coffee, paid the bill, and followed them out to the parking lot.

The sun, which had been setting as they arrived at the diner, was long gone. The gloomy day had given way to a clear, starry night. An icy wind had picked up and was blowing a plastic cup across the parking lot with a rasping rattle that seemed peculiarly loud in the stillness.

"Meet you at the station, Nan," Joe called.

"I'll be right behind you the whole way," she called back, more for Jenny's benefit than Joe's- the unspoken subtext being so don't try anything stupid.

Jenny stuck her head out of the passenger side of Joe's truck. "Be careful with my car. My mom will flip if anything happens to it before it's even paid off."

"I'm a good driver," Nancy assured her. Feeling sympathetic, suddenly, and remembering how young Jenny actually was, she walked over to the truck and grabbed the door before Jenny could close it.

"Now what?" Jenny demanded.

"Jenny, that painting they just dug up is a fake. We set the whole thing up to trap the thief."

Jenny's eyes went wide. "No."

"You did a good thing tonight. You might be able to cut a deal if you go in there now and talk to someone. If you wait, this whole thing is going to fall apart tonight and you'll go down with it."

"Okay." She was tearing up again, but she took a shaky breath and squared her shoulders. "Okay. I'm going. Just remember what I told you, about Keith."

The drive to the station was uneventful. They parked side-by-side and got out. Nancy handed Jenny the keys to her car.

"You're doing the right thing," she said again, because it seemed as though someone ought to say something.

Jenny felt no such compunction. She gave them one last glare and stalked away without a word.

"Should we follow her in to make sure?" Nancy wondered aloud.

"Nah," Joe drawled. "She'll do it." He wrapped an arm around Nancy's waist. They stood together, braced against the cold, and watched Jenny Rodanski disappear inside the police station.

Nancy sighed and rolled her tight shoulders. "Well, that was certainly informative. What's the plan now?"

"Circle past the gallery, head over to your dad's, wait for some action?"

"That sounds about right."

Joe released her, then, and headed for the station to peer in the glass pane of the door. Nancy watched as he cocked his head, clearly communicating with someone on the inside. He opened the door, stuck his head in for a moment, and then came bounding back to Nancy, his shoes crunching on the layer of frozen slush coating the poorly-plowed parking lot.

"Reynard's on duty up front. He says Jenny went back to give a statement, and if he sees me loitering around here again he's going to personally arrest me."

"In that case, we'd better ditch this joint," Nancy joked, heading for the passenger side of the truck. "You still owe me from last time I bailed you out."

"What? That time doesn't even count!" Joe protested. "That was in a foreign country. Foreign bail is a whole different deal."

"Bail is bail, Hardy."

"It was your fault I got arrested in the first place, if you'll recall."

"That's not the way I'd tell it."

"Oh, bull," Joe said, starting the truck. "I guess Aunt Gertrude isn't the only one having brain problems."

"Don't make me call Frank. You know he backs me on this one," Nancy threatened.

"Yeah, that's right, go running to my big brother, like that's supposed to intimidate me," Joe teased.

Still playfully bickering, they headed out toward the gallery.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Calm Before

"No sign of any Connollys," Nancy said, peering hard out her window as they passed the gallery. Everything was just as they had left it. The tracks they had left in the parking lot that morning had been obliterated by the afternoon's snow and wind, and no fresh tracks marred the walkway. "I still wish we could stop and look around."

"Trust the camera," Joe said philosophically.

"Don't you ever watch movies?" Nancy demanded, mostly joking. "What if they hacked our cameras and put them on a loop?"

"Yeah. The guy who botched his first robbery so badly that he ended up stabbing his brother has suddenly developed super hacker skills," Joe said dryly.

"Oh, I know Diarmid's too dumb. But Allie?" Nancy said, pondering.

"She's smarter than we gave her credit for," Joe admitted, "but I don't think that's her style."

"If I were in her place, I wouldn't send Diarmid in at all. I'd wait for the local family to steal it and then steal it from them. They can't exactly report the theft."

"As much as she enjoys letting other people take the fall for her, patience is not her strong point," Joe said.

Nancy sighed. "She had to have planted the bayonet at Lana's. That kind of clinches the whole double cross, doesn't it? Allie gets away clean with the original paintings, and all the blame falls on Lana and her family. No chance they'd come back from that debacle to try to claim their inheritance."

"Not a chance," Joe agreed. "By the time Lana got herself cleared, Allie and the money would have been long gone."

"One thing's for sure: I'm kicking myself for not pressing the issue more when I spoke with Lana. Now that I think back on our conversation, she did sort of brush me off when I asked whether she knew any of her Hawaiian relatives. I should have seen she was hiding something."

Joe shrugged. "It's okay, Nan. We got hung up on the Diarmid thing and didn't think to look deeper."

"I suppose. Do you think Keith is as deep in this as Jenny claims he is?"

"I'm not sure how that would make sense. He probably just got sucked in when he started rooming with Brendan." Joe tapped the brake, suddenly, slowing the truck to a cautious crawl, before resuming his normal speed. "Sorry, thought I saw some deer on the other side of the trees. Hitting one tonight would be really crappy timing."

Nancy shuddered. "I'll keep an eye out," she promised.

"Why do you think Brendan and Faith got left out of the family business?" Joe asked, returning to the subject at hand.

"I think Brendan was more useful to them the way he was. I mean, he was totally committed to finding the inheritance. He was doing all the work for them. And Faith...well, I don't know."

"Too loyal to Brendan, maybe. I wonder why Jenny wasn't more tempted." They'd reached the Drew residence. Joe eased the truck over toward the curb. "I'm going to park here so we don't block Camille's car. I'm sorry."

"No problem," Nancy assured him.

It was a problem, as it turned out. Nancy lost a shoe in the snow just a few steps away from the truck. "Damn," she muttered, hopping for balance while she tried to retrieve it.

"You okay?" Joe called from the driveway.

"Yeah." She dumped snow out of the sneaker and jammed her foot back into it. "I've just realized we should have stopped off at the drugstore for a new set of laces."

"I can go back," Joe started, and Nancy cut him off with a vigorous shake of the head.

"That would be silly. I think I have another pair of sneakers upstairs. Come on in."

Everyone was in the kitchen. Camille was sitting on one of the tall stools at the kitchen island, sipping a glass of wine, while Carson cut a cake. Hannah hovered, clearly frustrated but too polite to shoo her employer away from his task. Nancy came to her rescue.

"Hello, everyone! Dad, stop mutilating Hannah's beautiful cake and come give me a hug."

"Nancy!" he said, pleased, and set down the cake server. "Nancy, honey, I didn't even hear you come in. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Dad," she said, stepping into his embrace. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you."

"And we arrived just in time for the celebratory cake. Do we have good timing, or what?" Nancy joked.

Carson reached out and brushed at Nancy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, honey, I got icing on your, er, t-shirt." There was a slight hesitance in his voice and a slight furrow between his brows as his gaze traveled across the design on the front. Nancy had forgotten she was wearing Joe's t-shirt, a far cry from her usual style.

"Aerosmith, huh," Carson commented. "I'm assuming this belongs to you, Joe?"

"Yes, sir," Joe said easily.

"Did I ever tell you I saw them in concert?" Carson asked.

Nancy couldn't help smiling. It was clear from Joe's expression that he had been expecting the lawyer to say something much less friendly. But he recovered quickly.

"I'd love to hear about it," he said.

Nancy left them to their conversation and moved toward the kitchen island.

"Congratulations, Camille. May I see the ring?"

Camille's eyes shone with real happiness as she held out her hand. "Isn't it gorgeous?" she said proudly. "Who knew your dad had so much romance in him?"

"How did it happen?" Nancy asked, sliding onto the seat next to Camille's and leaning in conspiratorially.

"Oh, it was a wonderful evening," Camille said. "He took me to a ballet, and after that we had dinner at the most beautiful little restaurant. We were walking back to our hotel afterwards and I told him I'd just had the loveliest, most memorable evening." Camille smiled and touched her ring. "He shook his head and told me he didn't think it was the most memorable yet. You know what a good poker face he has. I was actually frightened, for a moment, that he was going to end the relationship. But then he actually got down on one knee right there outside our hotel, and he asked me to marry him."

"How romantic!" Nancy said. "I'm so happy for you. For both of you."

Camille reached over and touched Nancy's hand. "Carson assured me he had spoken with you before our trip."

"Yes," she said quickly, seeing at once what Camille was getting at. "He told me what he was planning, and he asked if I were okay with it. And I am. Camille, I meant what I said. I am truly happy for you and Dad."

"Thank you, Nancy. I felt a bit delicate about the whole thing." Camille pressed her hand. "I'm not going to try to mother you. You're an adult. But I would like us to be friends."

"I would like that," Nancy returned.

"Cake, darling?" Carson said, coming up between them, and Nancy almost answered before realizing he meant Camille.

 _Huh. Maybe this will take some getting used to,_ she thought ruefully. But Nancy was not the sulking kind. She truly was happy for her father. And if she felt a wistful pull in her heart, a pang of regret for the mother she barely remembered, she would keep it to herself. She took a deep breath and looked around for Joe, who had evidently been helping Hannah make coffee.

"Coffee, Nan," he said, setting a mug in front of her. It was made just the way she liked it. Nancy impulsively leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. But to be completely honest, Hannah had to remind me how much sugar you take."

"In that case- thanks, Hannah."

"Oh, he wasn't too far wrong," Hannah said, settling herself in and reaching for a napkin.

"Hannah, you've outdone yourself," Carson pronounced, holding a bite of cake aloft. The lawyer was a reserved man, but he was absolutely beaming this evening, and Camille's face was softer than usual.

"We're all so pleased for you," Hannah said.

Nancy reached across the table to squeeze the housekeeper's hand. "Don't you start tearing up, Hannah. You're going to make me cry too."

"No waterworks," Hannah promised.

"That's right," Camille agreed. "I don't want any tears shed on our account."

"Happy tears," Nancy assured her.

"Perhaps a change of subject would be wise," Carson suggested. "How are you two faring with your case?"

Joe spoke up. "We're hoping to wrap it up tonight, actually."

"Tonight?" Camille's eyebrows shot up. "You're sitting here eating cake and talking about family matters, and this is going to wrap up the case?"

Nancy held up her phone. "Surveillance video feed. We're waiting for an art thief to make a move."

"Ah, the classic mousetrap denouement," Carson said. "And where will you be when the trap goes snap?"

"Here, if that's okay with you. The gallery is just a few minutes away," Nancy said.

"So this is a stakeout!" Camille exclaimed, clearly impressed. She looked around, meeting one amused face after another, and her own face fell slightly. "And I'm guessing this is not the first stakeout for any of you."

"Far from it," Hannah said dryly.

"All in a day's work for us," Joe said cheerfully.

"Even so, I can't believe how calm you all are about all this excitement. Even after Nancy's horrible experience the other day," Camille said. "Speaking of which, Nancy, shouldn't you be on medical leave?"

"No," Nancy said kindly. "I'm really okay. I heal up quickly." She touched the bruise on her face. "See? This one is almost gone."

"I don't know how you do it," Camille said, addressing Hannah and Carson. "I worried enough when my kids were doing normal kid stuff."

"We're very proud of Nancy," Hannah said affectionately. "I think I'm going to worry more after I've moved out."

"Hannah, no. You know we'll talk just as much as we ever did," Nancy protested.

"Let's not talk about that tonight. Tonight is about happy things," Carson decreed.

"Carson, my move is a happy thing," Hannah scolded gently. "Life goes on, you know, and you all will be just fine."

Nancy felt Joe take her hand under the table. She squeezed it lightly, knowing what he was thinking: that part of Hannah's "life goes on" was Nancy's decision to move out. Nancy shook her head just enough for him to see. She was very deliberately not bringing that up tonight.

"You kids polished off that cake pretty fast," Hannah continued. "Did you have a chance to get dinner?"

"I had a cup of coffee at the diner, earlier," Nancy said slowly, looking down at her empty cake plate. She had been wondering why the rich dessert had not made her feel full.

"I had a milkshake," Joe admitted, a sort of little-boy half-smile on his face. Hannah shot up from her seat.

"Maybe you're right! Maybe you do need someone to take care of you!" she muttered, heading for the refrigerator.

"I'm inclined to agree with Hannah. Perhaps I should keep her on as a nanny," Carson teased.

"Dad," Nancy protested, rolling her eyes. "A nanny is the last thing I need."

"A father likes to know his child is eating right," Carson said.

"Ordinarily, I do. We just got so busy today."

"Now there's an aspect of your job I can relate to!" Camille said. "I've accidentally worked through lunch a time or two." She stood, reaching for her purse.

Carson rose, too. "Are you going?"

"Yes. It's been a wonderful evening, but I've got to get home and feed Nick and Nora." She caught Joe's curious expression and laughed. "My parakeets," she explained. "Nancy, I'm going to give you a call sometime. I'd like to have lunch together. Though we might need to postpone that until after Thanksgiving."

"I look forward to it," Nancy said politely.

"Wonderful. Goodnight, all. Hannah, thanks again for the delicious cake."

"I'll walk you out," Carson said, putting an arm around his fiancee.

"I'm not used to seeing Dad so demonstrative," Nancy said softly, once the lawyer was out of the room.

Hannah set a pair of plates down in front of Nancy and Joe. She nodded. "She brings it out in him. They seem truly happy together. Now eat, please."

Nancy looked down at her plate and laughed. "A peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crust cut off? Subtle, Hannah."

"Adults remember to feed themselves, dearie," Hannah said, softening her words by dropping a kiss on Nancy's forehead.

"Thank you, Hannah," Joe said.

"You're welcome." Hannah hesitated. "Joe, honey, while you're here, would you take a look at my blender? It's not working right."

"Sure," Joe said easily, sliding off his stool. "That sounds like a good distraction."

"No, keep eating. I'll grab it for you."

Carson returned in time to see Hannah pulling the blender and a small tool kit from a cabinet. "Is Hannah putting you to work already, young man?"

Joe nodded. "She says I've got to earn my cake or get out," he joked.

"Joseph Hardy, you know I said no such thing," Hannah scolded. "Here's the blender, though I'm not sure now that I want you to look at it!"

"I'm sorry, Hannah. Please let me fix your blender? I mean, it's either this, or I go home and get some motorcycle parts to tinker with."

"Greasy motorcycle parts will never see the inside of my kitchen," Hannah decreed. "Or," she added quickly, seeing the twinkle in his eye, "my clean living room!"

"Yes, ma'am," Joe said. He got up and took his and Nancy's empty plates to the sink.

Carson turned to Nancy. "You two are staying over tonight?"

Nancy nodded. "If we sleep at all, we'll likely do it in shifts."

Joe, who was still rinsing dishes at the sink, broke in. His voice was respectful but strong and confident. "Sir, I owe you an apology for the other night. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"I appreciate the apology, Joe." Carson steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "I believe I owe you an apology of my own. You take good care of my daughter. The particulars of your relationship are none of my business."

"Dad," Nancy said, but Carson raised a hand to stop her.

"I appreciate the respect you two have shown me and one another. You're both adults. I don't want to see anything, I don't want to hear anything, but I'm not going to forbid anything." He shot a glance at Hannah, like a chastened child. "It has also been pointed out to me that I'm something of a hypocrite after having spent the weekend with my own significant other."

Hannah looked a little smug. "I'm still the boss around here for a while longer," she said playfully.

"It's the truth," Carson admitted, chuckling.

"Thanks, Dad." Nancy leaned over to give him a quick hug.

"All right. I think I'm going to call it a night," the lawyer said. "Thank you for coming over. It meant a lot to me and to Camille."

"You're welcome," Nancy said.

Hannah went off to bed not long after Carson did, leaving the young detectives to their vigil. Time had passed fairly quickly while there were people around to talk with; now the minutes began to drag like hours.

"Should we go to bed?" Nancy asked, following Joe into the living room.

"I'd just lie there," Joe said, shaking his head. He set the tool kit and the blender on the coffee table and looked up at her. "You can go get some sleep if you want to. Just let me know when you want me to wake you."

"No, thanks. I'm too keyed up." She flopped into a chair, reaching for her phone. For some time there was silence between them. Joe covered the table with sheets of newspaper and began methodically disassembling the blender motor. Nancy's eyes were glued to her phone.

"Bess says things are still a go on their end," Nancy said finally, scrolling through her messages for the thousandth time. "And I let Callie know the diner thing was not a trap."

"Good. She was worried."

Nancy reached for the TV remote. She flipped through a few channels before compulsively checking her phone again. No movement. No messages. Nancy groaned.

"I wish we were on a regular stakeout. This is killing me. I can't focus on anything else."

"We triple-checked that alarm system, Nan. We're going to get notified the second a mouse crosses the floor of that place, let alone a burglar." Joe's hands belied the calm in his voice. They were lacking their usual intuitive precision. And as he finished speaking, one hand slipped, sending a screw skittering across the floor.

"Shit. Did you see where that went?"

"Yeah, it's right there." Nancy slid off her chair and retrieved it for him.

"Thanks."

He went back to his tinkering. Nancy flipped restlessly through the rest of the channels.

"George would tell me to go for a run or something and chill out," she muttered, settling for a late-night news program.

Joe swore again. "This screw is stripped."

"I think she needs to lay off the spray tan."

"Who, George?"

"No, this lady," Nancy said, gesturing at the news anchor on the TV.

"Oh." He pried out another component, looking pleased. "Eureka!"

"You found the problem?"

"And I know how to fix it," he said triumphantly.

"Hannah will be pleased." Nancy vacated her chair and sat down on the floor beside him, watching his progress. It was all a jumble of parts to her, but Joe seemed to know what he was doing.

"Speaking of George," she said suddenly, "did I tell you her theory about stakeouts?"

"No, I don't believe you did." He was squinting, slotting a very tiny part into place.

"George thinks that people who are sleeping together can't work together. She told me while we were staking out Kate's place last week."

Joe set down the blender parts, thinking this over. "I think we do all right," he said slowly.

"That's what I told her."

"I think," Joe said, still pondering this, "that if we had a purely physical relationship, with no real connection to each other or the work, then yeah, the sex could be overly distracting. But we know how to keep it in bounds. For example, if we were on a traditional stakeout, there's no way I would do this." And he leaned over and kissed her. Nancy gave a soft yelp of surprise before relaxing into the kiss. She came away grinning mischievously, but tried to make her voice serious.

"Absolutely. And if we were on a traditional stakeout, I definitely wouldn't do this." She turned her face up to kiss him again, biting his lower lip just hard enough to get his attention. He responded just the way she had hoped he would: by pulling her close, one hand on her hip and the other wrapping in her ponytail and tugging just hard enough to ignite her passion.

"I thought you said you didn't want to go to bed," she gasped.

"I've had a change of heart." He kissed her again.

When he released her, Nancy took his hand and led him upstairs to her bedroom, tiptoeing and feeling half-guilty despite Carson's benediction.

"Do you feel like a misbehaving teenager?" Joe whispered.

"Yes!" Nancy admitted, laughing. "Go on. I'll get the door. It squeaks if you don't do it just right."

Joe watched in amusement as she eased the door shut without a sound. "Let me guess. You've had that move down since you were seven."

"Five," Nancy shot back. "I didn't learn to climb out the window until I was ten, though."

"I have you beat on that one. I think my first window climb was around eight. But I did have the advantage of an older brother to teach me the tricks of the trade."

Nancy's eyes sparkled. "You had it easy."

"Yeah, yeah." Joe kissed her softly. "Got your phone?"

Nancy held it up. Joe took it and laid it on the bedside table beside his, checking that both phones had the camera app up and running and the alert volumes turned up high. Then he moved toward Nancy again and kissed her: tender this time, long and slow and sweet.

"Maybe a technological stakeout has its perks," she murmured.

"As long as Diarmid doesn't trip the alarm while we're-"

Nancy interrupted him with another kiss, less tender this time, letting the heat between them build fast. "Enough talking," she said, pulling back to tug her shirt off. She knew neither of them were in the mood for gentleness. They were discharging nervous energy, grounding one another, and right now that meant they needed to be playful but rough.

"Can I just say how much I love watching you do that?" Joe drawled.

"Nope. Less talking, more action," Nancy said, starting to go to her knees in front of him. Joe groaned.

"I love watching that, too. But I'd rather do this," he said, picking her up and setting her on the bed. She peeled off her jeans while watching Joe strip off his shirt.

"See something you like?" he asked, noticing her gaze.

"I could use a closer look," Nancy said, scooting back on the bed to make room for him.

"It's a twin size bed. You're definitely going to get a closer look," Joe joked.

When he put a knee down on the mattress, it squeaked. Joe froze. "Should we transfer operations to the floor, Captain?"

"It wasn't that loud!" Nancy whispered, giggling.

"It's been too long since I lived with my parents. My stealth sensors are all off balance." He eased his way onto the bed until they were lying face-to-face, Nancy's knee atop his and their arms wound around each other. He traced his fingers down her bare back to make her shiver. "I don't want to make your dad regret giving us carte blanche."

"Relax. You can't hear anything from all the way down there."

Joe raised an eyebrow, and Nancy blushed. "Talking, I mean. Regular noises. I never, I mean, Ned never, in my room-"

"Nan." Joe put a finger to her lips. "It's fine."

"We never," Nancy said again, nipping at his fingertip, brushing it with her tongue. "I love your hands. Have I ever told you that?"

Joe pulled his finger from her lips and used it to tip her chin up instead. "These hands? Ah, that explains your sudden amorousness. Watching me repair that blender must have driven you wild."

"Yes, I find it irresistible to watch you use a screwdriver."

"The screwdriver is a metaphor, yes?" Joe said, waggling his eyebrows outrageously.

"Shut up and kiss me," Nancy said, but she was laughing. She was expecting a playful kiss- but when their lips met it was like electricity, primal and breathtaking. She squirmed against him, sliding a hand between them to undo the button on his jeans. Together they fumbled their remaining clothing aside, hands moving in impatient jerks, desperate suddenly to come together. The act was urgent, explosive. Joe clamped a hand over Nancy's mouth to stifle her cries, dropping his face to muffle his own obscenities against her shoulder.

Afterwards, Nancy lay in his arms and let her eyes drift shut.

"You can sleep now, if you want," Joe murmured, kissing her languidly.

"I'm not tired," Nancy whispered back. "Just peaceful." She reached up a hand to cup his face, running a finger over the roughness of his cheek. He had not had time to shave that morning. Joe turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand.

"I know what you mean. If we'd been on a real stakeout, we would still be nervous as hell. I'm feeling pretty relaxed right now."

"Obviously George didn't think through all the nuances!"

"Well, this is George we're talking about," Joe pointed out. "Sex is not exactly high on her list of priorities."

"True," Nancy agreed. "Can you see the camera feed?"

He craned his head. "Still nothing." He lay back down, pillowing his head on one arm and tracing her collarbone with the fingers of his free hand. "I wish I could draw you."

"I'm sure the world will get along fine without a nude sketch of yours truly," Nancy said dryly.

"The world, maybe, but what about me?" His finger traveled lower, skimming along the curve of her breast. Nancy relaxed, content to be worshiped. _This must be how Bess feels,_ she thought. _Powerful. Adored._

Joe's wandering fingers brushed the roughness of the stitches in her side. "When are you getting these out?" he asked, circling them lightly.

"After Thanksgiving," Nancy said vaguely. "I wrote it down somewhere. Dr. Hammond says I must be single-handedly trying to keep him in business."

"He has a point," Joe said, settling his hand on her hipbone.

"Hey," Nancy said, making eye contact. "I don't go out of my way to get hurt. We just talked about this."

"I know," Joe said. "I know. I'm sorry."

Nancy sighed. "We should get dressed."

"Yeah," Joe said, but he didn't move. Finally Nancy gave him a playful little nudge and he rolled away, zipping up his jeans. He grabbed their shirts off the floor and tossed her the one she'd been wearing.

"I forgot about these," Nancy said, sitting up and sticking out her toes in their mismatched socks.

"You'd better pack up some clothes while you're here," Joe advised. He went over to check their phones again while Nancy headed for her dresser.

"I'll take that drawer," she said, tossing a few pairs of socks into a bag.

"Good."

"But I don't know about moving in."

"That's fine."

"Anything?" she asked, referring to the cameras.

"If I'd seen something would I be sitting here watching you pack?"

"I can't believe this is almost over," Nancy said, adding a pair of jeans to her bag.

"Good riddance, I say. It's been a bumpy ride."

"What, you haven't enjoyed our first official collaboration?" Nancy teased.

Joe stretched and flopped back onto the bed, which did not squeak at all this time. "No bumps there," he said, and for a moment Nancy was not sure whether he was talking about the mattress or their collaboration. She waited, letting him go on. "I like working with you. I thought, when Frank joined the police force, that I'd be better off without a partner. We were so good together. Seamless. I can just about read his mind." He rolled onto his side, propping himself on an elbow, to look at her. "But I can just about read yours, too. We've got something good going."

"I agree," Nancy said simply.

Joe flopped back again, running his fingers restlessly through his hair. "Come on, Diarmid."

"Want to go back downstairs and find something to eat?" Nancy suggested, zipping her bag.

"Hungry again, or humoring me?"

"Starving," she told him.

"Then sure, let's scavenge." He hopped up, grabbing their phones, and they tiptoed back through the sleeping house to the kitchen. He retrieved the blender parts and finished re-assembling it while Nancy made scrambled eggs and toast. They ate it in front of the TV, flipping through insipid late-night programs, until their patience ran out.

"I can't take this anymore," Nancy exclaimed. "Let's go do a real stakeout."

A slow smile spread across Joe's face. "I love you. You know that, right?"

Nancy hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and gave him a teasing look. "Maybe you should show me again."

"Come on," he said affectionately, throwing an arm around her and steering her toward the door.

"Wait." Nancy tore a page off the memo pad beside the phone and scribbled a quick note, which she folded and propped on the coffee table.

"Okay. Let's do this."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Storm

"We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow-"

"Joseph!" Nancy snapped.

Joe's head swiveled toward her. "Nan?"

"You've been singing that song for two hours. I love you, but if you keep going I am probably going to punch you."

Joe stretched and shifted restlessly in his seat. "I'd have stopped a long time ago if fucking Diarmid would just show up already. Why would he wait this long to get in there? It's inefficient!"

"Yes," Nancy said wryly. "There's nothing I hate more than an inefficient thief."

"Kids these days," Joe agreed, laughing.

Nancy turned back to the front, arranging her scarf around the lower part of her face. Cold had been seeping into the truck cab ever since they parked. She wiggled her toes inside her shoes, making sure she still had enough feeling to pursue a fleeing suspect if the need arose. Beside her, Joe stretched again. He was already starting to hum again, softly and mindlessly.

"We all li-"

"Joe, seriously!"

"Sorry, sorry."

"I don't know how Frank put up with stakeouts with you for all those years."

"Where do you think I got the habit?"

Nancy raised an eyebrow at him.

"Fine, don't believe me. But you should ask him to sing you his dirty parody of 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' next time you see him."

Nancy giggled. "Remind me. That sounds too good to be true."

"It's awesome." Joe pulled his trademark orange knit hat out of his pocket and pulled it on. "Are your toes as numb as mine?"

"Yes. Wiggle them," Nancy advised.

"I've been wiggling. It doesn't help much. We should have stopped for coffee and snacks."

"Yeah, I could go for a coffee." Suddenly Nancy sat up and reached for her purse. "Hang on. I might just have something for you."

He peered over her shoulder. "You have a Keurig in your purse?"

"No, but I do have snacks," she said, handing him a half-empty bag of peanut M&Ms.

"You have a candy stash in here?" Joe said, laughing.

"It's left over from staking out Kate's place with George." Nancy reached over and scooped a few candies from the bag. She popped one into her mouth, glanced out her window, and nearly choked. A masked, dark-clothed figure was strolling across the gallery parking lot.

"Joe," she gasped.

"You're hearing things. I swear I'm not singing it."

"Not that. Look!"

He focused immediately. "I see him. What's our approach?" He was dropping the bag into a cupholder as he spoke, and absentmindedly tipping the handful of candies in his palm into his coat pocket.

"Let him get inside before we move in," Nancy said decisively.

Joe nodded. "I agree. We want him red-handed."

Their quarry had reached the gallery door, now. He stepped close to the door and did some quick finagling with the lock. As soon he stepped inside, both Nancy's phone and Joe's began beeping.

"The cameras worked!" Nancy murmured, silencing her phone.

"Don't sound so surprised," Joe teased. "You had a pretty good tech team."

"The best," Nancy agreed, smiling at him. "Come on. Let's get in there."

Despite what they had said to Camille, stakeouts were hardly an everyday occurrence. For Nancy, it felt a little strange, a little like deja vu, to be going through the motions again so soon after her stakeout with George. But it felt good. As much as she loved the chase, actually closing in on a suspect was a high like no other.

The dark-clothed figure was down at the far end of the exhibition room, cutting Callie's forgery away from its frame, when the detectives slipped noiselessly into the building.

 _That looks too small to be Diarmid_ , Nancy thought, frowning. Could it be Allie herself? She glanced at Joe, tilting her head to indicate her confusion. Joe shrugged. He raised a hand high, giving Frank and the other watchers the signal that everything was under control. Then he gave Nancy a nod.

 _Go ahead._

"Step away from the painting and put your hands in the air!" Nancy yelled, stepping out of the concealing shadows. Ahead of her the figure jumped, obviously badly startled, and whirled to face her.  
"Nancy Drew," she spat. Blue eyes, gleaming with fury, showed through the eyeholes of the ski mask. Nancy knew immediately who they had caught.

"Maggie Rodanski," Nancy said coolly. "Drop the knife and come with me."

"Like hell I will." Maggie clutched the painting to her chest and adjusted her grip on her knife. "Stay away from me, bitch."

"I'd do what the lady says," Joe said, emerging from the shadows in his turn.

Maggie yanked her ski mask off. "I should've known you didn't have the guts to come after me alone," she sneered. "I don't care. I'll kill you both right here if I have to. I know what you did to my sister."

"Jenny made her own decision," Nancy said mildly.

"Sure. Right. And pigs are flying, too, right?" Maggie took a few steps toward the door. "Listen: I'm just taking what should be mine. You can let me walk out of here, or you can get hurt. I'm through talking."

"The police are on their way," Joe lied. "Drop the painting and come peacefully. Things will go much better for you."

Maggie's only reply was a burst of profanity. She took another step toward the door and Nancy moved aside, remembering Jenny's unexpected viciousness when cornered. She had no doubt that Maggie's temper was similar to her sister's, or that Maggie was bluffing about using her knife. A direct assault would be stupid. She would have to catch the younger woman off-guard or wait for Joe to pull his gun on her.

A sudden electronic chiming relieved Nancy of the responsibility of making that choice. It was Maggie's phone. The ringtone sounded jarringly loud and cheerful in the tense atmosphere within the gallery. Nancy fought the urge to laugh at it.

"Answer it," she told Maggie. "We're not going to hurt you."

Maggie never took her eyes off the detectives. She slid her phone out and put it on speaker without once losing her grip on her knife or the painting.

"What," she snapped.

A familiar voice emanated from the phone. Diarmid! "You know what I want."

"I got here first," Maggie said belligerently. "Sucks to be you. That's what you get for double crossing your own family."

There was a pause. When he spoke again it was with an affected drawl, as though he were trying to emulate the villain of every bad action movie he had ever seen. "You look good tonight, Mag. Black is your color. It would be a shame to get blood on that nice outfit."

Nancy rolled her eyes. She did not have to look at Joe to know he was laughing. Maggie, however, was shaking with rage.

"You asshole. Are you seriously threatening me? After everything you've already done?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." Diarmid laughed. "Tell that detective bitch and her boyfriend to come on out to the parking lot. Nice and slow, no games. If anything looks funny I'll start shooting. You come too. Maybe we can strike a deal."

Maggie hesitated, thinking this over. For a moment, Nancy hoped that she might resist. But evidently her hatred for Nancy and Joe outweighed her hatred for Diarmid. She nodded.

"Okay. We're coming out." She shoved her phone back into her pocket and turned the full force of her steely blue glare back toward Nancy and Joe. "I would've been gone before he got here if it weren't for you idiots."

"And if you hadn't tried to rob the place, you never would have been here in the first place," Joe said cheerfully.

"Nothing to say to that?" Nancy said, watching Maggie's face. The girl was fighting to hold on to her anger, but fear was creeping in.

"Come on," Joe said. "Let's see what your cousin has planned for us." Moving with slow, exaggerated movements, and keeping his body between Nancy and the windows, he headed for the door. He was humming under his breath, that damned "Yellow Submarine" again- whether to keep up Nancy's courage, or because he was genuinely that nonchalant about the situation, Nancy did not know.

 _Probably genuine nonchalance_ , she decided, shaking her head in affection and exasperation. After all, they still had an ace in the hole: neither Diarmid nor Maggie knew Joe had a gun. But knowing Joe, he probably would have acted the same if he were unarmed. It was like him to be buoyant in the face of evil, to walk into danger with a smile on his face. Nancy followed him toward the door, feeling her heart twist with the bittersweet ache of love and fear. She tamped both emotions down. She could not afford to be distracted right now.

 _Be practical_ , she reminded herself. Joe's use of his body as a shield not only protected her from the immediate threat of bullets, but offered her the opportunity to signal for help. She turned for a second, looked directly into the camera, and lifted her right hand to touch her left ear. Frank had to be watching. He would recognize the gesture immediately; he and Joe had used it for years to signal that a situation was going bad.

-

Diarmid was leaning up against the side of his car. He had not been bluffing. He did have a gun.

Undaunted, Maggie started talking as soon as they got in range. "What the hell, Diarmid? The first paintings weren't enough for you? You needed to come all the way back here to screw us over again?"

"Why settle for half?" Diarmid said, amused rather than chastened by her tirade.

"Where's your whore?" Maggie asked rudely. She was still clutching the painting to the front of her body- using it, Nancy realized, as a shield, banking on the fact that Diarmid wouldn't shoot her if it meant destroying the painting.

"You're in no position to be mouthy," Diarmid reminded her, raising his gun toward her head.

"Go ahead. That's the only way you're getting this painting," Maggie said furiously.

Diarmid lowered his weapon. "How about a deal. Work with me and we'll split the money, 50/50."

"Why should I trust you?"

"C'mon, Mags. It's me. Your cousin." He gave her what he intended to be an ingratiating smile. Maggie stared back, unconvinced.

"I wouldn't trust him," Joe said.

"I don't know," Nancy chimed in. "It might be safer to take the deal."

"Yeah, you have a point," Joe replied thoughtfully. "Take the deal."

"Then again, he did double cross her last time..." Nancy pointed out. If we can get them confused enough Joe might get a chance to grab his gun without anyone getting hurt.

"True. You should keep this painting for yourself," Joe advised.

Maggie looked bewildered. Diarmid had had enough. "Shut up!" he roared, aiming his gun toward Joe. "Yes or no, Mag."

"No."

"What if I told you the buyer for this one is local? Come with me and we'll split the money on the spot. Then I'll hop on a plane for Hawaii and you'll never have to deal with me again."

Maggie hesitated. "90/10," she said finally.

"60/40," Diarmid shot back. Nancy and Joe exchanged an amused glance. With any luck the cousins would still be haggling when the police arrived.

"70/30, final offer," Maggie said.

"You always were a cold little bitch," Diarmid said. "Fine. But only because we've got to get out of here."

"What do we do with them?" Maggie asked, jerking her knife toward Nancy and Joe.

"Leave that to me," Diarmid said. He gestured with his gun toward the trees at the edge of the parking lot. "You two, over there."

"Listen, Diarmid. Shoot us here and you're going to have every cop in the country looking for your stupid face. Take the painting if that's what you want, but don't rack up another two murder charges," Joe said sensibly.

A siren wailed in the distance. Nancy's heart leaped for a moment before she realized that it was the firehouse siren, not a police car. But Diarmid did not seem to know the difference.

"Fuck," Diarmid grunted. He stood still for a moment, weighing his options. Then he gestured with his gun again. "Up against the car. Both of you."

They were running out of time. Nancy tried to resist, to create a diversion for Joe to use to get the drop on their captor, but Diarmid simply grabbed Nancy's arm and twisted it behind her, holding the gun up to her temple. He shoved her up against the car next to Joe. "Maggie, search him," he grunted.

Maggie patted Joe down in a very reluctant and amateur fashion. Even to an amateur, though, his gun was obvious. Maggie pulled it out of its holster and held it out between her thumb and forefinger, as though she were holding a dead mouse.

"He had a gun!" she said, shocked.

"It's not gonna bite!" Diarmid said impatiently. "Put the damn knife away and point the gun at him."

Maggie did as she was told. She held the gun gingerly- clearly, she had never handled a firearm before- but that did not make her any less dangerous.

"Let's see what you've got," Diarmid growled at Nancy, pushing her harder against the side of the car. She felt the cold of the metal against her face, through her clothing. Diarmid kicked her stance wider with one booted foot and began running his hands over her body in a crude imitation of a crime-show frisking.

"Get your hands off her," Joe said, and his voice was dark, menacing. Diarmid, idiot that he was, laughed.

"Or what?" he said, taunting the other man. "My girlfriend had a little fun with you. It seems fair for me to have some fun with your girl." He leaned in, caressing Nancy's cheek, as he spoke.

Nancy bit him.

"Try it," she said, spitting blood into the snow. "I dare you."

His hand came at her again, hard this time. The blow sent her reeling back against the car hard enough to hit her head. _Great. Now I'll have a bruise on each side_ , she thought dizzily. _At least I'll be symmetrical._ She vaguely heard Diarmid cursing at her. When she looked back he was cradling his bleeding hand, but his gun was still trained on them.

"Diarmid," Maggie said. "We've got to get out of here."

"Get in the back seat," Diarmid ordered, yanking Nancy upright so Maggie could open the car door. He gave Nancy a push and she stumbled toward the door. She could hear Diarmid and Maggie arguing outside.

"Maggie, you're driving. Get in and keep the gun on them until I'm ready."

"I'm not driving. I'm holding the painting."

"Put the damn painting in the trunk."

"I said I'd hold it!"

"Fine. Just get in."

Maggie slammed herself down in the front passenger seat. She turned to keep Joe's gun trained on her passenger.

"Where's your boyfriend?" she snapped.

Nancy shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't want to go for a ride," she said casually. She honestly didn't know what Joe was hoping to accomplish by delaying, but she trusted that he had a plan. She craned her neck, trying to get a view of what was going on outside, just in time to see Diarmid stagger backward. Joe must have seen a chance to go on the offensive. Diarmid's gun fell to the ground and slid behind the car's rear tire. Instinctively, Nancy began to lunge for it.

"No," Maggie said, Joe's gun wavering in her hands. Nancy froze.

The ensuing scuffle was brief. For a minute the two men grappled, neither one able to gain the upper hand. Then Joe landed a series of good punches and Diarmid went down. Nancy's heart lifted for a second- and then fell again as Diarmid reached out and yanked Joe's feet out from under him on the icy surface.

Some instinct made Nancy turn back toward Maggie. Maggie's attention was focused on the fight; the gun was no longer pointing at Nancy. Without stopping to think, Nancy grabbed for it. Her fingers closed on the cool metal of the barrel just as Maggie noticed her attempt.

"Nice try," Maggie said, wrenching the weapon out of Nancy's reach. The girl popped her door open and leaned out.

"Diarmid, get clear!" she screamed, pointing the gun toward the combatants. She intended to shoot Joe!

"Joe, get down!" Nancy cried, lunging between the seats. She managed to get an arm around Maggie's neck and squeeze. The girl dropped the gun into the snow and writhed, scratching and hitting at Nancy. Nancy just held on for dear life. If Joe could just get the better of Diarmid, now, the whole thing would be over. The men were down again. Between her struggle to hang on to Maggie and the pre-dawn dimness Nancy could barely tell what was going on. One figure rolled away suddenly, toward the car. The other began to rise to his feet.

"Joe, on your left!" Nancy exclaimed, realizing what was about to happen. But it was too late. Diarmid came up with his gun back in his hand and he used it as a club, bringing it down hard on Joe's head. Joe crumpled.

"Let her go. Now," Diarmid bellowed at Nancy. His chest was heaving with exertion, but he had a businesslike grip on his weapon. Nancy obeyed, releasing Maggie and withdrawing into the back seat.

"Let me help him," she said.

Diarmid did not answer her. He bent over Joe's body for a moment, presumably checking for signs of life. Then he straightened up, muttering something Nancy could not make out, and kicked the prone detective viciously a few times before hoisting him up by the armpits and loading him into the back of the car with Nancy. Part of Nancy's brain, the part that never stopped analyzing her surroundings, catalogued that information: Diarmid might be stupid, but he was also very strong. Her more immediate concern, however, was Joe. Nancy eased his head into her lap, pressing her sleeve against the gash in his forehead to stop the bleeding, feeling desperately for his carotid artery with her free hand. A pulse drummed against her fingers, strong and steady. It was the most beautiful thing she could remember feeling.

"He's alive," Diarmid told her, disgust plain in his tone. He eased himself behind the wheel and reached to close his door.

"Diarmid!"

Diarmid's head jerked toward Maggie. She shook her head.

"What the..." Diarmid hauled himself back out of the car.

Nancy, too, was looking for the source of the voice. She saw a gleam of moonlight on blonde hair: Faith, running across the slick parking lot, tears streaming down her face.

"Diarmid!" the girl screamed again. "Diarmid, I know what you did!"

"Good for you!" Diarmid yelled back.

And he pulled the trigger.

Faith fell and did not rise again. Diarmid practically threw the gun into Maggie's lap and slammed his door, already turning the keys in the ignition. The car fishtailed across the lot and swerved out into the road, where it gained traction and sped off into what was left of the night.

"What did she know? What did you do?" Maggie was screaming.

"Don't worry about it!" Diarmid yelled back.

"You just shot our cousin!" Maggie shrieked. "You really shot her!"

"Look, doll, we do what we have to do," Diarmid said.

They kept arguing. Maggie was evidently just learning that it was Diarmid, not Keith, who had killed Brendan; and she was not taking it well. Diarmid had nothing particularly interesting to say in his own defense. Nancy let their words wash over her like white noise, like waves on a beach. Her focus was on Joe and his terrible, uncharacteristic stillness. Despite her attempt to stop the bleeding, she could feel a horrible patch of wet warmth spreading across her leg.

 _He's fine. He's going to be fine._

They were heading out of River Heights now. Nancy forced herself to keep half her attention on the road, on memorizing the route they were taking. There was very little she could control about her current situation, but she could at least stay alert.

 _Where was Frank? Why didn't he call the police?_ she wondered, leaning in to take a look at Joe's head. When she ran her fingertips across his face, they did not come up wet. The bleeding had finally stopped. Nancy took a shaky breath and sat back, cradling his head in her lap, trying her hardest not to think about Faith lying in the gallery parking lot.

 _This was supposed to be easy,_ she thought wearily. Her throat felt tight with anger and unshed tears. She swallowed hard, shoving her fear and worry to the back of her mind, and concentrated on her anger. Nancy's temper was not the blinding flash that Joe's could be. Nancy's anger was slow-burning, deliberate. She let it rise up and carry her, a life preserver on the tide of peril and uncertainty.

"Where are you taking us?" she asked abruptly, cutting through Maggie's current tirade.

"Don't worry about it," Diarmid told her.

There was a short silence. Diarmid stopped at a red light and waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"I'll call my buyer when we get there," he said to Maggie.

"And then what?" she asked.

They launched back into their cycle of debate and recrimination, and Nancy tuned them out. She looked out the window. They were in Bayport, now, and very close to the bay itself. Joe began to stir as they turned off the main road and bumped across a lot to what looked like a warehouse by the docks.

"Lie still," Nancy whispered into his ear. "I think we've reached our destination."

"As long as it's not our final destination," Joe quipped weakly. He reached up, exploring fingers brushing the wound on his head. "Where are we?"

"A warehouse in Bayport. How do you feel?"

"Humiliated," Joe whispered. "That's the first fight I've lost in awhile. I'm sorry, Nan."

"You should be. I really thought you were invincible," Nancy whispered back.

Joe halfway smiled. "Sorry to disappoint, babe."

"I'm just glad you're awake," Nancy said, growing serious. "How do you feel?"

"I'll live. You?"

"I'm fine."

Diarmid had pulled the car around to the back side of the warehouse building. He parked the car, pocketing the keys. "Stop whispering back there," he ordered. "Get out of the car, slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them. Mag, hand me one of those guns back."

"We only have one," Maggie said, handing it over.

"Where the hell is the one you took from him?"

"She made me drop it," Maggie said sullenly.

"You fucking idiot! Your fingerprints were all over it!" Diarmid snarled.

"I can't do anything about that now," Maggie shot back, defiant as ever. She grabbed the painting and slid out of the car.

"Just get inside," Diarmid said.

Nancy felt Joe squeeze her hand once, hard, before they slid out of the car to face whatever would come next.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four: Aftermath

The warehouse was unoccupied. It was dim, inside, even after Diarmid flipped on the overhead lights, and it was cold and disorganized. The door to its small office was ajar, revealing a bare metal desk and a filing cabinet with its drawers hanging open. As soon as they walked in it became apparent that the last cargo to pass through this particular warehouse had been livestock. The air was heavy with the smells of hay, urine, and manure.

"I can't believe your dad hasn't found a renter for this place yet," Maggie said.

"It hasn't been that long," Diarmid said, disinterested. "Get me some rope."

"Some rope?" Maggie repeated, looking around.

"Yeah, there's some lying around. The shit they use to tie hay bales. Go pick some up." Diarmid prodded Nancy between the shoulder blades with his gun, sending her stumbling forward toward some left-behind bales of hay. "Sit," he directed. "And not on the same bale. Keep some distance."

Maggie had been poking around in the loose hay scattered over the floor, squealing occasionally when she stepped in something distasteful. But it was not long before she was back with several lengths of baling twine.

"Take the gun," Diarmid said, grabbing the twine.

"You're welcome," Maggie said pointedly.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered back.

"That's all I get?"

He paused and craned his neck to look back at her. "You want a fucking trophy for picking up some pieces of rope?"

"Why are you such an ass?"

Diarmid made no response. He finished tying Joe's ankles with a jerk and moved over to start on Nancy.

Nancy's hopes that Diarmid's intellectual limitations extended to knot-tying were soon dashed. Within a few minutes her wrists and ankles, and Joe's too, had been secured.

"What are you holding us for?" Joe demanded.

"Insurance," Diarmid said shortly.  
 _He'll keep us until he gets paid,_ Nancy thought. _After that we'll be liabilities._ Deciding not to pursue that course of thought any further, Nancy focused on tested her bonds discreetly. The baling twine was rough and irritating against her skin, and it held firm. But she had not really expected the knots to miraculously dissolve at her first struggle. Life never seemed to work that way. She looked over to Joe and tried to smile.

"We should have trained as magicians," she joked, and was happy to see Joe's eyes light up in appreciation.

"I'll change my major next semester," he murmured back.

"No talking," Diarmid warned. "Let's see the goods, Mag."

Maggie held it up and Diarmid leaned in, squinting. "Can't you put it down?"

"No."

Grumbling, Diarmid dragged the desk out of the office. He used the hem of his shirt to wipe off the dust in an exaggerated manner. "Now will you put the damn thing down?"

Maggie, her lips compressed in an angry line, spread the canvas out on the desktop. Diarmid leaned in again, examining it, for a long moment.

"All right. I'm gonna call my guy," Diarmid said, evidently satisfied with the stolen item. Maggie was still leaning over the canvas.

"Something doesn't look right," she said, mostly to herself.

Diarmid froze mid-dial. "Don't tell me you stole the wrong painting."

"No, this is it. But something looks off about it."

"Stop." Diarmid pointed at her, shaking his head in warning. "Just look away. We got the damn thing, right? And Curt's gonna pay us for it. That's what matters."

"I know," Maggie said, but she kept staring at it.

"Seriously, stop it," Diarmid said, beginning to sound angry. "Watch them. I'm gonna go call."

Diarmid went down to the far end of the warehouse to make his call. Nancy could see him pacing back and forth down there. He was too far for her to make out what he was saying, but judging by the tone of his voice and his increasingly choppy gestures, he was not pleased. When he returned to their side of the room, Maggie practically pounced on him.

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

"Diarmid, tell me. We're supposed to be partners."

"There's nothing to tell."

Maggie was not buying it. "I bet Curt doesn't have the money."

"He has the money. He's running late, that's all. Don't get hysterical about it."

"Don't be an ass," Maggie told him, returning to stand guard over the painting. "I just want to get this over with."

"It was your choice to be here," Diarmid reminded her. He was still pacing around, looking out the window, his gaze darting continually darting back toward Nancy and Joe.

"Watch them," he said suddenly. "I gotta call Allie." He gestured with his gun toward the detectives. "Don't try anything stupid. I'm not in the mood."

"Oh, sure. We'd hate to inconvenience you," Joe said snidely. Diarmid ignored this, to Nancy's surprise.

"Hey, leave me the gun!" Maggie yelled after him. His only reply was the side door slamming behind him. Maggie muttered something unladylike under her breath, retrieved the folding chair from the office, and sat down to stare at her prisoners. Moments dragged by. Nancy squirmed a little, wishing Maggie would look away or at least blink a little more frequently. This was quite possibly the most awkward she had ever felt in a hostage situation. And she was beginning to worry about Joe, too. She could tell that he was angry, and that he was probably gearing up to do something impulsive.

 _Wait, Joe,_ she begged silently, making eye contact with him. _Don't try to force an opening. Something will come up._

Joe frowned back at her. He was angry, and he was not really telepathic. Nancy did not know whether to laugh or cry. His impulsive ideas worked, most of the time; but she was not eager for either one of them to make a wrong move and get shot. She was still banking on Frank having seen her signal.

Inspiration struck, suddenly. Nancy slumped back against the wall in feigned boredom. "This is getting dull," she whispered, and started to hum, then sing in a soft voice. "We all live in a yellow submarine..."

Joe looked startled, for a second; then he broke into a reluctant grin and joined in.

"Hey," Maggie said ineffectively. The detectives went on singing as though she were not there.

"Hey!" Maggie said, louder this time.

Joe broke off, mid-chorus. "Sorry, we're not taking requests right now," he told her, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Stop singing!" Maggie told him.

Nancy stopped. "Diarmid's been gone awhile," she said thoughtfully. "I wonder what he's saying to her that he couldn't say in front of you."

"Don't worry," Joe chimed in. "I bet it's just a personal call. Why would he hide anything from you? I mean, you're partners now."

"Stop that," Maggie said. "I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work."

"Were you trying to do something?" Joe asked, turning his most innocent expression toward Nancy. She managed, somehow, to keep a straight face.

"I don't remember trying anything."

Joe shrugged. "From the top?" he suggested.

"Take it away!" Nancy agreed, swaying a little as though she were dancing. In fact, she was using the motion to disguise a different objective. There was a nail sticking out of the wall behind her, and she had discovered with a little manuevering she could hook the twine binding her wrists on it. It was nowhere near as effective as a knife or even a jagged piece of glass would have been, but she had already managed to break a few fibers.

 _At this rate I should be free by Christmas,_ she thought ruefully, wriggling her shoulders and winking at Joe to draw his attention to her efforts. His mostly-false cheerfulness brightened into the real thing.

Diarmid was not pleased when he returned to yet another rousing chorus of the classic Beatles song. He ran in, slamming the door hard behind him. "What the hell, Maggie? I said watch them!"

"What was I supposed to do, fill their mouths with hay?"

"That's not a bad idea." Diarmid strode over toward the hay bales and glared down at Nancy and Joe through his one good eye. His left eye was swollen half-shut, a souvenir of his earlier fight with Joe. He was obviously trying to look intimidating- so naturally, Joe refused to be intimidated.

"I guess he's not a Beatles fan," he said to Nancy, shaking his head. Nancy decided to play along.

"What? That's crazy. Everybody likes the Beatles," she said.

"Maybe he just doesn't like that song."

"Hmm. Let's try another one, then."

"Hey, man, do you prefer 'Hey, Jude' or 'Daydream Believer'?" Joe asked.

"That's the Monkees, not the Beatles!" Nancy told him.

"Right. Good catch."

"Shut UP!" Diarmid screamed. "Just shut up! The next person who starts singing is getting a bullet between the eyes."

"Is your aim actually that good?" Joe asked with interest.

"Shut up," Diarmid growled again. He turned on his heel and stalked back toward the desk.

Maggie pulled the painting reflexively closer to herself. "What did Allie say?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Really? You were out there for ten minutes, talking about nothing?" Maggie had perfected the art of the disbelieving eyebrow arch. Diarmid did not seem impressed.

"She didn't answer, okay? I called a bunch of numbers and couldn't get her. Happy now?"

"Yes," Maggie said primly.

The group lapsed into silence again. Maggie hovered near the painting, defensive and worried but trying to appear in control. Diarmid sat down in the folding chair, crossed his arms, and stared stone-faced into space.

For Nancy, the time seemed to both drag along and lurch dizzyingly forward. She was painstakingly spearing the twine between her wrists onto the nail and pulling, feeling the fibers give way one strand at a time. Though the movements themselves were not especially strenuous, Nancy could feel her muscles trembling as though she had just finished a hard workout. Any moment now, Diarmid would notice what she was doing. Any moment now, there would be repercussions. But minute after minute passed with no outcry from her captors. Almost a quarter of an hour must have passed before Diarmid suddenly lurched to his feet again. The sudden movement startled Nancy and she jumped, popping the twine off the end of the nail and gouging her arm against it. She bit back her yelp. Miraculously, Diarmid paid no attention to her.

"I'm gonna call her again," he said, turning toward Maggie. "Don't let them get out of control this time."

"Let me have the gun this time!" Maggie said.

"Fuck no."

"Okay, but don't blame me if they start singing again."

"If they start shit this time I'm taking an extra share of the cash," Diarmid told her.

"Over my dead body!" Maggie yelled after him. She seemed to regret the words as soon as they had left her mouth.

"Big talk from the chick with no gun," Diarmid said, laughing a very nasty laugh. He let the door bang closed behind him again.

"If I had my hands free I'd wipe that smirk off his face," Nancy muttered, suppressing the urge to spit into the hay on the floor. She could still taste blood from when she had bitten him earlier.

"Easy, Drew. Reckless violence is supposed to be my department," Joe said gently.

"I'm beginning to see why you enjoy it so much," Nancy grumbled back. She rolled her shoulders, trying to release the strain of the delicate work she was doing behind her back, and resolutely hooked another strand of twine over the nail. Maggie was still sulking by the desk, and she was staring at the painting rather than at the detectives.

"Seriously, though," Joe said. "We've got to do something. He's going to shoot us as soon as he gets his money. That goes for you, too, Maggie."

Maggie's head jerked up so fast she looked like she'd been lassoed. "Why would he do that?"

Joe shrugged. "Think about it. We're only alive now because he didn't want to leave a mess at the crime scene, and in case he needs us to negotiate his way out of here. As soon as he gets what he wants he's going to have to make sure we won't talk."

"I have the painting. He needs me," Maggie said stubbornly.

Nancy looked at Joe. He shrugged again. Maggie was either very naive or very confident; but either way, she had gotten herself into this mess. As much as Nancy would hate to see her get hurt, she was not their responsibility.

They were quiet for a minute or two. Then Joe spoke again, very softly.

"Hey, Nan."

"What?"

"This might just be the concussion talking, but I've come up with that sonnet you asked for."

Nancy's eyes widened. "Here? You're going to tell me here?" she said, surprised, but pleased and curious.

"No time like the present, right?" Joe said. He sounded surprisingly serious.

"Go ahead. I'm listening," Nancy said.

"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes-"

Nancy giggled. "Joe, that's Shakespeare."

"What? No way. I just made that up."

He really was too good at keeping a straight face. Under different circumstances, Nancy would have slid into his lap and kissed him until his composure broke. But at present all she could do was roll her eyes at him and say "Okay, Bard, let's hear the rest of it."

"Maybe I don't want to tell you, now."

"Maybe you didn't really write one!"

"I guess you'll never find out."

Diarmid's return jolted them out of their teasing mood. Nancy stopped tugging at her wrists and faced forward again.

"Took you long enough!" Maggie was complaining. "Did you talk to her this time? What did she say?"

"She said mind your own freakin' business," Diarmid snapped back. Nancy took this to mean that Allie was still not answering her phone. Had she been arrested already?

 _Well done, Bess,_ Nancy thought, her spirits lifting.

"You can't talk to me like that," Maggie told her cousin. She was holding the painting again- shielding herself or just trying to retain some measure of control over the situation, Nancy was not sure which.

"I can do whatever the hell I want," Diarmid said huffily.

"Will you at least tell me what we're going to do with them when Curt gets here?" Maggie jerked a thumb at the detectives.

"Shoot 'em."

"Can't we just leave them here?"

Diarmid made his voice slow and patronising, as though he were speaking to a child. "They know who we are, Mag. They'd go straight to the cops and tell them everything."

"Yeah, but you said I left fingerprints on that gun I dropped. Aren't we screwed already?"

"What are you saying? I thought you were in. I thought we were partners." His voice was not patronising anymore. Now it was threatening. "If you're thinking about turning yourself in, we're gonna have a problem."

Maggie swallowed hard. "No. No, that's not what I meant. I'm just saying, we're already in big trouble."

"Shoulda thought of that before you broke into the gallery."

"I didn't know I'd be helping kill anyone! Faith was bad enough. Now we're going to kill two more people?" Maggie's voice had been rising hysterically. She checked herself, swallowing again. When she continued to speak, her voice was barely audible. "I just wanted what is rightfully mine. I just wanted my inheritance. I didn't want this."

"Awww, wittle Maggie doesn't like hurting people," Diarmid taunted. His expression hardened. "Get your big girl panties on and deal with it. This whole thing is almost over and I'm not letting anyone get in my way."

"Not even your own brother." Maggie's voice is defiant but shaky.

"He should've just given me the box. He made me do it. Now would you just drop it?" Diarmid dropped heavily into the folding chair. He was playing with his gun, clicking the safety off and then back on. The sound grated on Nancy's nerves.

"Curt should be here in a few minutes," Diarmid said abruptly. "Go out to the car and get me my soda."

Maggie hesitated.

"I said, go get me my soda," Diarmid repeated. And Maggie went.

"I think it's frozen," she called as she returned. Diarmid grabbed it anyway.

"Got to make a call. Watch them." He was gone before Maggie could say anything.

"This would be a great time for my brother to show up," Joe murmured.

"You know Frank. He's just waiting for the last minute so he looks as heroic as possible," Nancy whispered back, wincing slightly as her arm slipped against the nail again.

"Yeah, that's my brother," Joe said dryly. "Old Blaze-of-Glory Hardy."

Nancy turned her attention to Maggie, who was clutching her painting and looking miserable. There was a slight chance she could capitalize on the shift in the power dynamic between the cousins, but it was now or never.

"Maggie." Nancy's voice was gentle, but Maggie jumped violently.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"You're not supposed to talk," Maggie said.

"I know. But I was thinking, if you want out of this..." Nancy let her voice trail off. When Maggie looked at her, sharp and curious, Nancy shrugged. "I mean, he's gone. You could make the call if you wanted to. End this before something bad happens."

"She's right," Joe said. "You know you're just as much in danger as we are, Maggie."

Maggie inhaled sharply. And, miracle of miracles, she reached for her phone.

"I'm sick of him yelling at me," she said softly. "And I don't want to die."

"You're making the right choice," Nancy said, keeping her voice calm despite the surge of adrenaline she could feel coursing through her body. _Dial faster. Come on, Maggie. Dial faster!_

But it was too late. Diarmid was back.

"Drop the phone!" he roared, raising his gun.

She dropped it. It landed with a horrible crack on the concrete floor; it was probably broken even before Diarmid ground his heel into it.

"Tell me why I shouldn't shoot you right now," he hissed.

"Diarmid," Maggie whimpered. There were tears on her cheeks. "No. Please."

He took a step closer. "Go sit down."

There were no hay bales left. Maggie sat down on the floor beside Nancy's bale. All the fight had gone out of her. She allowed Diarmid to take away the painting and to bind her wrists and ankles.

"Go easy on her," Nancy said, feeling the same rush of compassion she had felt earlier for Jenny. The girl was so young and so defeated.

Diarmid got to his feet. "You, shut up. And you," he said, looking down at his cousin, "quit crying."

"Leave them alone," Joe said.

"Or what?" Diarmid laughed. "Was that supposed to scare me? Because I think I remember winning, last time you came at me."

"Put down the gun and untie me. We'll see who wins in a fair fight," Joe growled. Diarmid just resumed his seat in the folding chair, smiling a very smug smile.

There was another silence, broken only by occasional sniffs from the still-crying Maggie. Diarmid dug out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. He checked his phone between drags, and occasionally paced to the window. Whoever this Curt was, he was not impressing Nancy with his punctuality.

 _I can live with that,_ she thought, working the twine over the end of the nail again. The thought made her shudder, suddenly. _Actually, that's the only thing keeping me alive._ She applied pressure, slowly, making her movements as slow as possible- and another strand parted. This time she felt the twine around her wrists slacken and drop away. She had done it! And just in time, by the sounds of things. A vehicle had just pulled up outside the warehouse.

"Finally!" Diarmid huffed, tossing his cigarette butt aside as he rose. He had just retrieved the painting from the desk when the door opened.

"Curt, you jackass, I've been sitting here for a freakin' hour," he complained. "You got the cash?"

"Nope, sorry. Do you take credit cards?" a suspiciously feminine voice replied cheerfully. The speaker stepped into view, pushing the door closed behind herself with one booted foot.

"George!" Nancy almost laughed out loud with relief and amusement. The look on Diarmid's face was priceless.

George took it all in stride. She had acquired a gun of her own, somehow, and it was pointing straight at Diarmid. "Drop the gun, scumbag. Get down on the floor."

He did not comply.

"You should probably know that I earned a few marksmanship badges in the Army," George said, taking a few steps closer. "You should also know that I've spent the past week babysitting my cousin's toddler. I'm not a patient person to start with. But now? Man, now I almost want to put a few holes in you just to relieve some stress."

Nancy had never seen anyone rid himself of a gun so fast. Diarmid practically threw his weapon onto the desktop before dropping to the floor, hard. George strolled over and planted a foot in his back.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't put you out of your miserable little existence," she said, low and deadly.

"No!" Diarmid screamed out, writhing in an attempt to roll out from beneath her. He covered his head with his hands and positively cowered. "No! Don't shoot!"

"Pathetic!" George said.

Nancy had untied her feet by now. She took the length of twine she had removed from around her ankles and used it to tie Diarmid's hands behind his back.

"You were free? What the hell were you waiting for?" George asked.

"It was a very recent development," Nancy told her. "Leave Maggie tied for now."

George raised an eyebrow. "Okay."

"Long story," Nancy said, using Maggie's knife to cut Joe's bonds.

"Thanks," he said, cupping her face briefly with one hand. They held one another's gaze for a moment, letting their eyes say everything they needed to say. There would be time to process the experience together later. Right now there was still work to be done.

"We owe you one," Joe said, going over to shake George's hand.

"The police are on their way. I called them before I walked in." George handed her gun over to Joe. "I believe this belongs to you."

"I could kiss you!" Joe said, accepting the weapon with joy and relief.

"Hardy, I swear I'll go away and let this rhinocerous in human form shoot you if you so much as pucker up," George said, pretending she was going to let Diarmid get up.

Joe laughed and kissed his gun instead before tucking it away in its holster. "Seriously, George. Thanks."

"You went to the gallery?" Nancy asked her friend.

"I had a feeling something wasn't right," George said. "I saw you walk in and flash us the all clear sign. But when you walked back out, something felt off."

"I signaled," Nancy said. "Where was Frank?"

"He got called in to work around midnight. Another officer called in sick."

Joe groaned. "Shit."

"That's what you get for relying on a signal code you made up when you guys were kids!" George told him. "Next time, I don't know, wave your arms around and look scared. That might convey your message a little better."

"I'm pretty sure that would have tipped off the shooter," Nancy said.

George looked down at Diarmid, who was still lying beneath her boot. "You really think this guy could hit the side of a barn?"

"You really think we wanted to chance it?" Joe shot back.

"Guys," Nancy said, interrupting. "Enough." She took a deep breath. "Was there a body in the parking lot?"

"Not a dead one," George said.

"Faith's alive?" Maggie cried. Everyone jumped and turned to stare at her; they had nearly forgotten she was in the room.

"She's not in great shape, but she should make it," George said. "She was still conscious when I got there. Anyway, I called 911, grabbed Joe's gun from the parking lot, and tracked you guys down."

"Like a bloodhound?" Nancy asked.

"Faith had a few ideas about where Diarmid might have gone to earth. Took me awhile to find this place, though."

"Sounds like the cavalry has arrived," Joe said suddenly. He went to the door and flung it open, raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture as he stepped into view. Nancy could hear him call out to someone, and several voices responded, though she could not make out the words. And then he had returned to her side, and the room was filling up with uniformed men and women, and Frank had materialized and was pulling both Joe and Nancy into a rough embrace.

"Frank, we're fine," Nancy protested, squirming away before the buttons on his coat could imprint on her cheek.

"Barely!" Frank said, aiming a light punch at his brother's shoulder. "You dumb blond. There were easier ways to try to get out of being my best man."

"I love you, too," Joe said, wrapping his arms around Frank. "And I was going to be your best man even if it meant showing up as a ghost. Do you think there are tuxedo rental places in the afterlife?"

"That's a question I'm in no hurry to get an answer to," Frank said, refusing to let Joe's jokes lighten his mood.

"Frank, this wasn't your fault," Joe said.

"If I hadn't gone to work-"

"We're big kids, okay? We handled it." Joe caught sight of George's glare and hastily amended his statement. "Fine. George handled it. But Nancy had her hands free."

An officer approached the group. "Miss Drew, Mr. Hardy, and Miss Fayne? The chief wants you to come back to the station and give your official statements."

"We'll need a ride," Joe said, nodding.

"I'll take you," Frank said immediately. "Just let me clear it with the chief." He walked off, striding purposefully through the commotion.

"I have my car," George said belatedly.

Nancy was not listening. She was watching another pair of officers lead Diarmid and Maggie out in cuffs.

"Joe," she said, drawing his attention to what was happening.

"My favorite scenery," he said with quiet satisfaction. "It's over, Nan."

"It's over," Nancy repeated, and her voice was a little hollow.

"Nance," George said, her voice laced with warning. "I know that look. Don't you dare start thinking about the next case yet."

Nancy laughed. "You got me." She reached over and gave her friend a quick hug. "Let's get out of here."

********************************************

The Bayport Police Department was surprisingly busy for a small-town police station in the early morning hours.

"Typical pre-Thanksgiving crime boom," Joe muttered. He was tipping his chair back on two legs, resting his head against the wall, and his eyes were closed.

"That must be it," Nancy said. She was falling asleep in her seat. To keep herself alert she got up and walked the perimeter of the interview room Frank had left them in.

"I bet the chief went out for breakfast," George grumbled.

"Don't talk about breakfast," Nancy pleaded, taking her seat again. "My stomach has been growling for hours."

Joe let his chair down with a thump. "Why didn't you say something earlier?" he asked, digging in his coat pocket. "Give me your hand."

"Why?"

"Just give it." He reached for her hand and poured a small heap of M&Ms into the palm. Nancy laughed merrily.

"My hero," she said, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Fayne? Breakfast?" Joe said, offering the remaining candies to George.

"No, thanks. I try to avoid eating pocket lint this early in the morning," George told him.

"Good morning, boys and girls," Chief Collig boomed, letting himself into the room. He settled his large frame on one side of the table and looked back toward the door.

"Come on in," he said, beckoning.

Frank entered, carrying a carafe of coffee and a stack of paper cups. "I thought you guys could use a hot drink," he said. "I tried to get you something to eat, but our vending machine never got restocked this week. I'm sorry." He took a seat beside the chief.

"Thank you," Nancy said fervently, pouring the coffee. "I'm dead on my feet."

"You're lucky to be on your feet at all, young lady," Chief Collig said sternly. Before any of the young people could make a reply, he shook his head. "I'm not going to lecture. These boys have heard enough of my advice over the years." He broke into a broad smile and rested a hand affectionately on Frank's shoulder. "At least one of you boys seemed to be paying attention. Joseph, my boy, there's still time for you to join the force."

"Frank and I are just two sides of the same coin, Chief," Joe said easily, glancing at his brother. Frank gave him a nod of understanding.

"Be that as it may," the chief rumbled vaguely. He shuffled the papers in front of him, searching for the written statements they had already turned in. "All right. There's just one or two things I have some questions about, and then I'll let you go. Preferably to a doctor," he added, pointing at Joe's head. "You ought to have that checked out."

************************************************

It was still fairly early when Nancy and Joe stumbled back to the Hardys' apartment.

"I don't know whether to make breakfast or just go to bed," Nancy lamented, rubbing her sore wrists.

Joe had already collapsed face-first onto the couch. "Bed," he said, his voice muffled in the cushions. "Or couch. Or floor. Just sleep."

"Bed," Nancy agreed. She went over and took his hand, tugging lightly. "Get up and come with me. I don't want to sleep alone right now."

A sudden sound drew her attention. Nancy whirled, nerves still taut with residual excitement, and found Callie peering out of Frank's bedroom.

"Oh, it's you," Nancy said, relaxing. "I'm sorry, Cal. We didn't mean to wake you."

Joe sat up. "Sorry," he echoed.

"Joe, your face!" Callie cried, horrified.

"What's wrong with my face? Most people find me fairly attractive," he said, trying to deflect her anxiety. But she would not be put off.

"What happened?" she asked, coming over to take a closer look. Joe submitted patiently. He had ignored the chief's advice about seeing a doctor, claiming the wound looked worse than it was. Nancy privately believed he could use a few stitches, but she suspected it would just make him more stubborn if she argued with him. The look on his face now, as Callie inspected the injury, confirmed her suspicions.

"Joe, you should-" Callie started.

"No," he said flatly.

"But-"

"Is my brain leaking out?" he demanded. "Is my head going to fall off? No. It's not a big deal."

"Fine. Whatever. Be macho about it," Callie said, looking queasy. She withdrew to the armchair and curled up, pulling an afghan over her legs. "Nancy, what happened to you?"

"Baling twine," Nancy said dismissively.

"No, your leg."

"My leg?" Nancy said, confused. She followed Callie's gaze downward, to the large bloodstain on her right thigh.

"Oh. No, that's Joe's blood," she said, staring at it. Callie's squeak of dismay barely registered above her own sudden swell of revulsion. Up until now, she had forgotten all about the bloodstain; but now she was overwhelmed with the need to get it off her body. She reached for the button on her jeans and popped it open.

"Nan?" Callie said tentatively.

"I can't wear these anymore," Nancy said shakily. She stepped free, leaving the ruined pants in a crumpled heap near the front door, and sat down next to Joe.

Callie's face was filled with compassion, now, instead of dismay. "Frank called from the station," she said, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "He told me you closed your case. He didn't mention that you both look like zombies."

"It was a long night," Nancy said, resting her head on Joe's shoulder.

"But we did it," Joe added. He wrapped an arm around Nancy and leaned back, closing his eyes.

"Okay, you two." Callie threw off her afghan and got up. "I want to hear the whole story, but I can wait. Right now I'm putting you both in bed." She was tugging them to their feet as she spoke. Nancy allowed herself to be guided across the room, toward Joe's bedroom door.

"You're bossy," Joe grumbled from the other side of Callie. "Why are sisters always so bossy?"

"Somebody needs to take care of you two idiots," Callie said affectionately. She pulled back the blankets and gave Nancy a gentle push. "In you go."

"I'm going to get undressed first," Joe announced. "Are you going to stick around and supervise that?"

Callie laughed. "I think you can handle that. I'll go." She hesitated, though, and gave them one last long look. "I'm glad you're okay," she said finally.

Joe tossed his t-shirt into the laundry basket and walked around the bed to pull her into a bear hug. "Thanks, Cal," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"All right." She broke away, smiling and wiping her eyes. "Damn hormones. Get some rest, guys."

As soon as Callie had closed the door behind her, Joe kicked off his jeans and joined Nancy under the blankets. He reached for her and pulled her close, one hand slipping beneath her shirt to stroke the length of her spine. Nancy wriggled closer. She could tell he was still riding the high of the morning's events, still not relaxed enough for sleep despite his body's exhaustion.

"You're still pumped," she said, without opening her eyes.

Joe nodded, his chin bumping her nose. "Yeah."

"What's on your mind?"

He half-laughed, half-sighed. "I've got my stupid attempt to fight our way out of it in the parking lot on a loop in my head. Every mistake I made, every way I almost got you killed..."

"Joe. You saw a chance and you took it. I would've done the same thing."

"Yeah." He sounded unconvinced.

"I can't believe he didn't shoot us when we started singing," Nancy said, trying to distract him. He smiled.

"I know. And I can't believe George tracked us down like that."

"Think they picked Curt up yet?" Nancy asked.

"Probably. We can ask Frank, later."

Nancy shivered. Her bones still seemed to retain some of the chill of that warehouse. She nestled closer to Joe and opened her eyes to look at his face. The early morning light filtering through the curtains softened his image, slightly, but did nothing to hide his bruises or the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Inspecting the damage?" Joe said wryly.

"You look beautiful," Nancy said, meaning it. "Joe?"

"Yes?"

 _I love you_ , was what she was thinking, but the words seemed frustratingly inadequate. She cupped his face and kissed him instead, tenderly, trying to pour her heart into the meeting of lips and the pressure of her fingers. It was a fairly chaste kiss, as kisses went, but Joe was breathing hard when she broke it off.

"Nan," he said. "Nancy."

"We're all right."

"I know." He kissed her again, slowly, and she could feel the hectic energy bubbling beneath his surface begin to lessen.

"I want us to work together," he whispered. "Officially, I mean."

Nancy's eyes blinked open wide. "Really official? As in, _Hardy and Drew, Private Investigators_ , on the business cards?"

"I would have suggested _Hardy Investigative Services_ , but I'm pretty sure you're not interested in taking my name."

"Taking your name?" Nancy repeated, sitting bolt upright. She stared down at him, trying to determine how serious he was. "You and your damn poker face."

"Come here," he said, laughing. He tugged her back down and wrapped his arms around her again. "Look, no ring. It wasn't a proposal."

"You can't joke about stuff like that! Not when I'm this tired," Nancy protested.

"Were you thinking about saying yes?"

"Not even a little bit," Nancy told him. "I was just thinking you need to work on your technique."

"You've never complained about my technique before," Joe said playfully.

"I meant your verbal technique. First you botched asking me to move in with you, now this..." Nancy let her voice trail off. She shook her head sadly. "You're in bad shape, Hardy."

Joe rolled over, pinning her to the bed, resting most of his weight on his forearms. His blue eyes locked onto hers and held her gaze, filled with laughter and something deeper.

"I promise you, when it's for real, it's going to be perfect," he said. Something in his tone made Nancy shiver again, with anticipation rather than cold.

"I believe you," she said softly.

"Good." Joe rolled back onto his side, facing her. "What do you think, though? About teaming up."

Nancy yawned, burying her face in the pillow to hide it. "I think it sounds great. But can we talk about it in a few hours?"

"That's reasonable," Joe said, reaching for the blankets which their movements had dislodged.

"Good night," Nancy murmured.

"Good- oh. Shit. Wait." Joe groaned, suddenly, and rolled over to grab his phone off the nightstand. "I should call Mom. She hates hearing this stuff second-hand."

Nancy echoed his groan. "Hannah is the same way." She started to sit up, but checked herself. "I left my phone in the living room."

"You can use mine in a minute. Lie down, babe."

Nancy curled against his chest again and let herself drift a little, lulled by the rumble of his voice. She must have drifted further than she had intended, because the next thing she knew Joe was speaking directly to her. She forced her eyes half-open, struggling to make sense of his words.

"I'll call Hannah for you," he was saying. "Go ahead and sleep."

"Tell her you made me breakfast," Nancy said blearily. She felt rather than heard Joe's laugh. The warmth of his body, the comfort of his bed, and her own exhaustion were all too much for her to fight any longer. Nancy closed her eyes and surrendered to unconsciousness.

 _Author's Note: There, the unpleasant stuff is done! I still have a few chapters left- Thanksgiving, mostly, and some friends-and-family fluff. And of course Joe still has not recited his sonnet. :) Many thanks to my wonderful reviewers! I really appreciate all your support._


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five: Preparations

Nancy woke with a jolt.

"The wedding!" she said aloud, scrambling across Joe to grab his phone. Heart racing, she squinted at the numbers on the display. What time was it? What _day_ was it?

Behind her, Joe stirred and stretched. "What's wrong?"

"What time is the wedding? How long did we sleep?" Nancy asked.

"Let me see that." Joe took the phone and squinted at it in his turn. "Nan, it's only been a few hours," he said. "Relax. Unless you think you're going to take almost 24 hours to get ready, we have plenty of time left."

Nancy flopped back down beside him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay. Go back to sleep."

They lay quietly for a few minutes. Finally, Nancy sighed.

"Can't sleep?" Joe asked.

"No."

"Me neither." Joe patted his stomach. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get up and order a couple of pizzas."

Nancy sat up again. She had forgotten how hungry she was. "Pizza sounds great."

Joe rolled out of bed, his usual easy grace giving way to a wince halfway through the movement. "Ow. Damn."

"Are you okay?"

"Sore," he said, stretching again. "And I've got a killer headache."

"I'm a little sore myself," Nancy admitted, rolling her shoulders. The muscles were knotted from the unnatural position she'd held them in while cutting the twine from her wrists. "Hot showers first, then pizza?"

"You might be even more brilliant than you are beautiful," Joe teased. "Go ahead. I can wait."

"Or you could join me. And I mean that in the least suggestive way possible," Nancy said, laughing. "I'm not up for anything strenuous right now."

"Trust me, we are on the same page there," Joe said agreeably. He followed her into the bathroom. "But I'll massage your shoulders if you'll do mine."

"Deal," Nancy said.

Afterwards, while she was dressing, Nancy discovered her own phone sitting atop a neatly-folded pair of jeans beside her overnight bag. She reached out, morbidly curious, and shook out their folds. There was no bloodstain.

"Somebody's been doing our laundry," she told Joe, re-folding the jeans and locating a pair of yoga pants in her newly-stocked bag. The jeans might be clean, but she still did not feel the need to put them back on. "Callie? Or Frank?"

"I don't know." Joe's head emerged from the neck of a blue henley. He, too, had reached for sweatpants instead of jeans. "Let's go find out."

An enticing aroma wafted toward them as soon as they left Joe's room.

"You're up!" Callie said happily, waving to them from her seat on the couch. "Perfect timing. Lunch is just about ready."

"It smells delicious," Nancy said. "But it's so late. I hope you weren't waiting for us."

"Would I get brownie points if I pretended I had?" Callie joked.

"No, you'd get brownie points deducted for starving your kid," Joe said.

"Relax. I've been snacking all day," Callie told him.

"She was waiting for me," Frank said, stepping out of the kitchen. "I just got home a few minutes ago. I'm surprised to see you two up so soon."

"We didn't think we got to spend enough quality time with you this morning," Joe said.

"Very funny. You can get in here and spend some quality time mashing the potatoes," Frank told him, an echo of Fenton's authoritative tone ringing in his voice. Joe went.

Nancy sat down next to Callie. "Are you my fairy godmother?" she asked.

"What?"

"My jeans."

"Oh. Yeah, that was me."

"Cal," Nancy said, touched. She remembered the last time Callie had dealt with blood- in the alley, after the attack- and how nauseated it had made her. "Thank you so much. I don't know how you did it. I was ready to throw them out."

"A good magician never reveals her secrets," Callie said dramatically, and then she laughed. "But seriously, cold water and club soda. It came right out."

Joe stuck his head out of the kitchen. "Nan, is that your phone? Something keeps beeping, and it's not the oven timer."

"Probably." She hurried back into the bedroom to retrieve it and scrolled through her new messages as she returned. One item in particular made her stop in her tracks.

"I got a text from Faith!"

"She's conscious?" Callie looked surprised.

"You know what happened?"

"Frank filled me in. Though I still do want to hear your side of things."

"Of course. Well, she's conscious enough to send a text, anyway," Nancy said. "She wants us to stop by the hospital and talk to her."

Joe had overheard. "Can we have lunch first?" he called.

"Don't worry. I had absolutely no intention of skipping another meal!" Nancy assured him.

"Another meal?" Callie echoed. "How long has it been since you ate?"

Nancy thought. "We had a light dinner yesterday," she said. "And we shared a pocketful of M&Ms this morning."

"Now I'm really glad I decided to cook!" Callie declared.

Joe stepped out of the kitchen again, bowing toward the living room with a grand, sweeping gesture. " _Allons, mesdames, voulez-vous déjeuner avec nous?_ "

"That head injury must have been worse than you thought!" Callie said. "You're speaking in tongues!"

"Just trying to add a little class to this party," Joe told her. He took Nancy's arm and ushered her to the table. Callie, meanwhile, crossed to where Frank was standing at the stove and gave him a kiss.

"Thanks for finishing up in here," she said.

"And thanks for sending Joe in to help," he answered, with a hint of sarcasm. Callie grinned.

"Has he been speaking French the whole time?"

"No, but he's been humming the same song over and over..." Frank broke off, confused, as Nancy and Joe burst into laughter.

"Still?" Nancy demanded.

"It's burned into my brain," Joe groaned.

"There's a story here," Callie said with interest, taking her seat. Frank followed with a dish of steamed vegetables.

"If there is, it didn't show up on the official report," he said.

"It's not the kind of thing Collig is interested in," Joe told his brother.

"I'd love to hear all about your night, if you're up to telling me," Callie said, passing the potatoes to Nancy.

"Didn't you fill her in, Frank? Or did you just focus on the part where you charged in and saved the day?" Joe teased.

"That's the good part, isn't it?" Frank replied.

Callie sighed. "Nan, will you please tell me?"

"Sure," Nancy said. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts, and began. "After we all left the gallery yesterday afternoon, things started coming together."

Joe had stopped his banter with Frank, now. Together, he and Nancy told their story, playing up the humorous parts and glossing over the few moments of real danger more from a desire to avoid thinking about those moments than from any need to shield Callie. They both knew Callie could handle the unvarnished facts; and they would tell her, gradually, as they processed the events in their own minds. For now they both needed to keep the narrative light.

"And that's that," Nancy finished. "Frank, maybe you can fill in a blank for us: what happened with Curt?"

"He's in custody," Frank said, pouring himself a second glass of water.

"Great. So, who is this guy?" Joe asked.

"He's just some lowlife Diarmid made a deal with. He has no connection to the Connolly case."

"I'm surprised," Nancy remarked. "Everyone else I've met for the past week has been connected somehow."

"I know," Frank said. "What a family!"

"Has Diarmid confessed to assaulting Nancy?" Joe asked.

"Your boy has been singing since the moment we cuffed him," Frank said. "He's confessed to everything. He doesn't seem to understand the implications, though. He doesn't think that having done all these things makes him guilty."

"What do you mean?" Callie asked.

"He keeps saying he only did what he had to do. He insists it's Brendan's fault he had to kill him. Same for you, Nan. It was your fault he drew a knife on you." Frank shook his head. "He's not very bright, but damn, is he tenacious."

"What did George call him?" Joe said, trying to remember.

"When?" Nancy asked.

"When she was standing on him. When she gave my gun back."

"Oh! She called him a rhinoceros in human form," Nancy said, smiling at the memory.

Frank nodded appreciatively. "That's very apt."

"Wait," Nancy said suddenly. "Something's been bothering me. If the murder was not premeditated, why did he steal the bayonet?"

"He says it was an impulse," Frank said dryly. "He was angry at Brendan for not being home, wanted to punish him by stealing more of his stuff, and the bayonet 'looked cool.' "

"That sounds like Diarmid, all right," Joe muttered.

"I have to ask," Callie said. "Did Allie realize how closely she and Diarmid are related?"

"Oh, she knew," Nancy said. Both Hardys nodded.

"He didn't," Joe added. "Not that it bothers him now that he does know."

"It's just another thing that wasn't his fault," Frank added, shrugging.

The conversation swirled on, Callie and Joe vying to outdo each other with jokes about kissing cousins, but Nancy was quiet. For a fraction of a second she had seen a strange look in Frank's eyes. She was studying him, trying to determine what was on his mind, when he looked up and caught her staring.

"Let it go," he said softly.

"You miss it!" she said, her tone just as soft. The insight had just come to her: his look had been wistfulness.

Though her voice had been barely audible, Joe's head immediately swiveled toward his brother. "Frank?"

Frank sighed. "Okay, yes. I do miss working with you."

"Is this where I get to say 'I told you so?' " Joe asked innocently.

"Say it. I dare you," Frank growled.

"How much do you miss it?" Callie asked. While the brothers' tone had been teasing, hers was very serious. Frank turned to her immediately.

"Now and then. That's all," he said. "I'm not ready to turn in my badge just yet."

"But you would, if you wanted to, right?"

Frank looked puzzled. "Well, sure. If I wanted to. Why?"

Callie poked at the food on her plate with her fork, keeping her eyes lowered. "I don't want you to feel trapped in your job because of me and the baby."

"Cal, no. I love you, and I love my job. I don't regret any part of my life." He paused, pulling his thoughts together. "Working with Joe, and helping with Dad's cases, that really shaped my life, you know? I wouldn't trade all that experience, and how close Joe and I have always been, for anything. But life goes on."

"Look who's feeling sentimental," Joe said, but there was more gentleness than ribbing in his voice.

"I'm allowed to be sentimental," Frank retorted. "I'm getting married tomorrow."

Joe sobered. "Does that rule extend to brothers of people who are getting married tomorrow?"

"Absolutely."

"In that case, I'll admit that I miss working with you, too. Not that I don't think my new partner is incredible." He reached for Nancy's hand and gave it a squeeze under the table. "And I'll miss you both a lot when you move into your new place. Don't get me wrong, I can't wait to hang out there and play with my nephew. But it's not going to be the same."

"Maybe it'll be better," Callie said softly.

"Absolutely, it's going to be better," Frank said, reaching for her hand. He looked at Joe again. "We're not kids anymore. We have our own lives. But we're never going to lose our bond."

Joe looked as though he were unsure whether to cry or to cheer. He reached for his drink and took a long swallow, composing himself. When he spoke again his voice was light. "You know you can jump in on any case, any time. Whenever you get the urge."

"We all saw how well that worked out today," Frank pointed out. "I got pulled in to work and left you high and dry."

"That wasn't your fault," Nancy told him.

"Hey," Joe said suddenly. "You could always do what Dad did. Be a cop for awhile, then come back to private sleuthing when you're ready. We'll always have a place for you."

"And a really good dental insurance plan?" Frank asked.

"Are you already planning for your unborn child's orthodontic needs?" Joe demanded. "I know you're responsible, but isn't that taking things a little too far?"

"I'm just saying, a good dental plan is important!" Frank shot back.

Nancy smiled over at Callie. "I'll help you clear the table. This could go on awhile."

"No, no, it's not going to go on awhile, because I'm ending it. I'll help with the dishes, and then we'd better get over to the hospital," Joe reminded Nancy.

"Getting your brain scanned?" Frank asked, distributing the leftovers into storage containers.

"Ha ha. You're so funny."

"It's a lost cause, Frank. I already bugged him about it," Callie said. "He says he's fine."

"I am fine!" Joe looked exasperated. "If I thought you guys would fuss so much I would've worn a hat over it."

"Oh!" Frank said suddenly, and vanished into his bedroom.

"Was it something I said?" Joe wondered aloud.

"Hats," Frank called, hurrying back with something orange in his hand. He handed it to Joe.

"We found this in the gallery parking lot."

"My stakeout hat!" Joe said, delighted. He pulled the startled Frank into an exuberant hug. "Thanks. I thought I'd lost it in that creep's car."

After the kitchen was back in order, Nancy traded her yoga pants for jeans and pulled her hair into a quick braid. She wandered back out into the living room while Joe got changed.

"Off to visit Faith?" Callie asked, lowering her book.

Nancy nodded. "Are you okay? Do you need me to do anything before tomorrow?"

"No, but thanks for asking." Callie sat up suddenly. "I almost forgot. Meet us for dinner tonight? I'll text you when and where."

"Are you sure, Callie? This is the last night before your wedding. Don't you want to spend it together?"

"We'd really like to spend it with family," Callie said firmly. "Think of it as a really laid-back rehearsal dinner."

"Sounds good to me," Nancy told her. "We'll be there."

-

The door to Faith's room was ajar. Nancy reached in and knocked lightly anyway, just to make their presence known, and the figure slumped in the bedside chair looked up sharply.

"Oh, it's you," he said, nervously adjusting his grip on Faith's hand. "The nurses know I'm here."

"It's okay, Keith," Nancy said softly. "We're not here for you. Faith asked us to stop by. But we can come back another time if she's asleep."

Without opening her eyes, Faith lifted her free hand- the one trailing an IV line- and beckoned to the detectives. "I'm awake," she whispered. "Come in."

Up close, Nancy could read the tell-tale signs of exhaustion, worry, and tears on Keith's face. Feeling a rush of sympathy toward the boy, she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Everything is all right now," she told him, and then wished she had not spoken. His face scrunched as though he were going to cry again.

"How are you, Faith?" Joe asked hastily.

" 'The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated,' " Faith said weakly.

Nancy smiled. "Mark Twain," she said.

"Bingo. How are you? I heard what happened."

"Good as new," Joe told her. "We bounce back fast."

Faith studied his forehead, plainly doubtful of his claim. But she chose not to pursue the subject.

"It's all over, right?" she whispered. "Everyone's been caught?"

"It's all over," Nancy assured her. "Everyone is in custody. You're safe now."

"Both of you," Joe added, for Keith's benefit. The boy looked ashamed, to his credit. But judging by the way Faith clung to his hand, Keith had confessed his sins and been absolved.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"Thank you," Faith echoed. "Thank you so much."

Nancy leaned closer. "Before we go, I have some good news."

"I thought the arrests were the good news."

"This is better," Joe promised. "Those miniatures Brendan found really were the inheritance he'd been searching for. But it turns out that your great-grandfather actually stole them."

Faith frowned. "That's not good news."

"It gets better!" Nancy said hastily. "They belonged to the private collection of a very wealthy collector. There's been a reward offered for their return, no questions asked, for several generations." Nancy named a substantial sum. "That money is yours, Faith," she concluded.

Nancy had expected a joyful response: a smile, perhaps, and one of the girl's habitual literary quotations. Instead, Faith burst into tears.

"That will pay for the rest of my college tuition," she sobbed out.

"That's great. You won't have to work so many hours," Keith said, stroking her hand. But Faith only cried harder.

"You don't understand," she wailed. "My poor brother...all his work, all his passion, his whole life, boils down to this? Me, taking my stupid classes? The money should be his." She took the tissue Nancy handed her and dabbed helplessly at her wet face. "It's not fair. It's not fair," she repeated.

Faced with such raw anguish, Nancy did not know what to say. But beside her Joe shifted his weight a moment, as though making up his mind, and then cleared his throat.

"I read something for class a few weeks ago," he said. "I'm not sure I can remember the words. 'So the darkness shall be light, and-' "

" 'And the stillness the dancing,' " Faith finished, drawing a ragged breath. She dabbed at her eyes again. "T.S. Eliot."

"I don't get it," Keith said.

"He means to tell me that good things are coming from bad," Faith said softly. She looked up at Joe. "Thank you. It doesn't mean much to me right now, but it will in time."

Keith still looked uncertain, but he did not ask any further questions.

"I think we'd better go and let you get some rest," Nancy said gently.

Faith nodded. "Thank you," she said again.

"Be well, Faith," Nancy told her.

-

"Where to, Captain?" Joe said, taking Nancy's hand as they made their way back through the hospital corridors. Nancy made no response. After a moment, he bumped her gently with his shoulder. She jumped.

"I'm sorry. Did you say something?"

Joe repeated his question.

"I'm sorry, Joe. I was a million miles away."

"Is something bothering you? I thought it went all right."

"This part gets to me a little," Nancy admitted. "We get to walk away and go on with our lives. But Faith has to live with what happened, every day. And I know," she added quickly. "I know we have to stay objective."

"I get it, Nan. But at least we did what we could to help her come to terms with it. We caught Brendan's killer."

"I know. I just wish we could do more."

There was a brief pause. Then Joe spoke again. "Turns out Keith has a good, solid handshake. I think there's hope for that boy."

Nancy laughed. "I don't ordinarily question your judgment, but I think you're going on some pretty flimsy evidence there."

"Handshakes are pretty telling," Joe argued. "Besides, I think he's too rattled by this whole experience to step a toe over the line ever again."

"Well, I hope you're right."

They had reached Nancy's roadster at this point. She slid behind the wheel, shivering, and switched on the heat.

"The heater in the old girl works better than the one in my truck," Joe commented.

"I had Chet check the whole system a few months ago. I was not about to spend the whole winter freezing my hands to the steering wheel again," Nancy said, backing the car out of its parking space. "Where to? We have a few hours before we meet Cal and Frank for dinner."

"We could go pick up my tux from the dry cleaner at the mall," Joe suggested.

"Yes, that would be a useful thing to have on hand," Nancy said. "Cutting it a bit close, aren't you?"

"I just found out about this wedding!" Joe pointed out. "Plus, there was that slight matter of having spent part of today tied up in a warehouse. Do you think Diarmid would have let me pop out to pick up my tux if I asked him politely?"

"I suppose I shouldn't criticize. I don't have my dress picked out yet," Nancy said, ignoring his sarcasm. "Where do you think we'll have dinner?"

"Probably that Greek place they like so much. Have I taken you there yet?"

"You tried, once, but I had to go out of town that weekend." Nancy glanced over at him. "Do you and Frank have plans afterward?"

"Plans?" Joe echoed.

"You know, _plans_."

"You mean a bachelor party? Nope." Joe shook his head. "He pulled me aside the other day and begged me not to. Told me to save it for the fancy wedding."

"But he'll already be married by then! What will Callie think of you throwing strippers at her husband?" Nancy joked.

"This is Frank we're talking about. Strippers were never in the cards."

"Because they make him uncomfortable?"

"No, because he makes them uncomfortable!" Joe said.

"Okay," Nancy said. "I'll bite. There's got to be a story there."

Joe blew out a breath- not frustrated, but collecting his thoughts. "Okay, yeah. So, Biff's wedding, a couple of years ago, we did the typical bachelor party thing. Drinking, strip club, the whole nine yards. Which, for the record, I'm not really into."

Nancy raised an eyebrow. "Joe."

"Nan," he said, mimicking her tone. "Do I lie to you?"

"I don't think so, but you're very good at it."

"I'm damn good at it," he agreed. "But I don't lie to Frank, and I don't lie to you. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Where was I?"

"Strippers." Nancy turned her car into the mall parking lot.

"They're impersonal," Joe said. "Call me old-fashioned, but I like to know more about the woman who's taking her clothes off for me than her first name." He said it lightly and turned toward Nancy, eying her blatantly. "Now, if you're ever in the mood to do a little dancing..."

"Funny you should mention it. Did I ever tell you that Bess and I went undercover in a strip club once?"

Joe's eyes widened. "Wow. No. You never- Nan, wow."

"I'm not saying I was any good at it," she teased.

"Were you?"

"Oh look, a good parking space," she said brightly.

"Don't you start dodging questions!" Joe protested.

Nancy put the roadster in park and tucked the keys into her purse, her eyes sparkling. "Bess made better tips," she said, taking pity on him. "But I did all right."

She was halfway out of the car before she realized that Joe had not moved. He was staring at her. Nancy ducked her head back into the car and made eye contact with him.

"Joe, you can unbuckle your seatbelt now."

"Oh." He did it automatically. He was still staring.

"You can stop imagining it," Nancy told him. "Come on. I want to hear Frank's stripper story."

That snapped him out of his daze. "Right," he said, scrambling out of the car. He reached out for Nancy's hand and twined his fingers through hers as they headed toward the mall entrance.

"What you don't know," he said, "is that strippers make Frank nervous. But because he is Frank, he refuses to admit it. And he's really good at hiding his emotions, usually. We've had plenty of training on that. But at Biff's party, he was so hammered-"

"Wait. Frank got drunk?" Nancy interrupted.

"It gets better." Joe was trying not to laugh, now. "Okay. So he's hammered. We're all hammered. You know what Biff's parties are like. Phil passed out before the strippers even got there. So anyway, they finally showed up, and as soon as the music came on Frank started giggling like a little kid. He couldn't stop. We had to lock him in the closet so they wouldn't storm out on us."

"Ow," Nancy gasped through her laughter, pressing a hand to the stitches in her side. "Joe, you're killing me!"

"So I guess this would be a bad time to do my impersonation of drunk Frank giggling in a closet?" Joe said, sending her into a fresh gale of laughter.

"Not right now!" she begged.

Grinning widely, Joe wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward a bench outside the dry cleaner. "Why don't you wait here and catch your breath while I run in and get my suit?" he suggested.

He was gone only a few minutes. Nancy had just taken a few cautious deep breaths when he was back, holding a garment bag and looking a little bewildered.

"What's wrong? Did they do something bad to your tux?" Nancy asked.

"No," Joe said absently. "Actually, they did something good to it. The other place I tried claimed it was not possible to get the stain from the MRE out."

"I'm not even going to ask why you were eating an MRE in your tuxedo."

Joe did not respond to that. "They're really getting married," he said, holding his garment bag up in front of Nancy as though she had somehow missed seeing it before.

"Oh," Nancy said, realizing the source of his bewilderment.

"This is," Joe went on, waving his hand to express the futility of language. "This is fucking crazy. My brother is getting married."

"So don't overthink it. Just celebrate with them and be happy," Nancy advised, deciding against pointing out that Joe himself had been on the brink of proposing to her.

"I am happy," Joe said.

"Are you sure? Because right now you look mildly terrified."

Joe relaxed a little. "That too," he admitted with one of his boyish grins.

"Think about it this way: what's really going to change? Frank and Callie have been joined at the hip since high school. They're already married in every way that really counts."

"But they've never gone down to the courthouse and said it in front of a judge before," Joe said. "This is bizarre. My brother, getting married. This is the guy I used to fight with over who got to have the top bunk, or who got the prize from the cereal box. This is the guy who helped me break and rebuild every bike I ever owned. I can't believe he's old enough to marry somebody." He paused and sort of laughed. "I can't believe he's old enough to be somebody's father!" he added.

Nancy was not sure what to say. Her experience growing up as an only child had not prepared her to fully comprehend the depth of Joe's emotion. The closest she could come was the way she had felt when Bess married Tom. So she settled for resting a hand on his arm, showing him that she was present and listening.

"I did not mean to unload all of that in the middle of the mall," he said after a moment.

"It's okay, Joe. I understand."

"Thanks." Joe looked at her. "What are you going to wear? Do you need to do any shopping while we're here?"

Though tempted, Nancy shook her head. "No. I have a few dresses that could work. I just need to stop by my dad's place and pick one."

"In that case, to the Batmobile!" Joe said dramatically.

-

Hannah's car was the only other vehicle parked outside the Drew home.

"Dad must be working late," Nancy remarked, pulling her roadster up alongside Hannah's station wagon. "And speaking of late, how long do we have before dinner?"

Joe re-checked the text he had received from Frank. "Almost two hours."

"Oh, good." Nancy used her key to open the front door, toed off her shoes, and headed for the stairs, calling out a greeting as she went.

"Hi, sweetie," Hannah called back, stepping out of the kitchen. "Where are you going in such a rush?"

Nancy slowed down and backtracked to give the housekeeper a big hug. "I'm sorry. I just stopped by to choose a dress for the wedding tomorrow."

"The what?" Hannah gasped.

"Frank and Callie's wedding," Nancy said quickly, almost stumbling over the words. "They're having a small, private ceremony tomorrow."

"Because of the baby," Joe added, peering down from the landing.

Hannah pressed a hand to her chest. "For a second there, Nancy..." she said, shaking her head.

"I would never do that to you," Nancy said.

"Never," Joe called down. "We don't get any cake if we elope. Where's the fun in that?"

Hannah softened. "You kids are incorrigible." She reached out and touched Nancy's face, searching for signs of new damage. "You're really all right? Both of you?"

"We're fine," Nancy said softly. "We closed our case."

"I'm proud of you, dear," Hannah said. She looked up. "You, too, young man. Don't leave without saying goodbye, okay?"

"Would I do that? We'll be down in a few minutes," Nancy said, continuing her course up the stairs.

Joe led the way into Nancy's bedroom. "A few minutes?" he repeated.

"Okay, so it could take awhile," Nancy said cheerfully. "Don't get too comfortable, Hardy. I may need help with zippers."

"Isn't it a little early to be getting dressed?" Joe asked. Despite Nancy's advice, he had sprawled out on the bed. He was lying with his hands behind his head, watching her as she retrieved a selection of dresses from the depths of the closet.

"I have to try them on. What color do you think will bring out the purple in my bruises?" Nancy joked, tilting her head slightly as she surveyed her choices.

"I'm no expert, but I'd avoid the green one. That's bound to bring out some nasty undertones."

"You're right." Nancy replaced the green dress in her closet and pulled out a few more options. "I have so many of my mother's and grandmother's dresses. I wish I could wear these every day. The poor things never get out."

"Do all women anthropomorphize their party clothes?" Joe asked idly. Nancy, who was pulling her shirt over her head, ignored him. She slipped into a peach-colored dress, smoothing the full skirt fastidiously.

"Zip me up, Joe?"

He did, planting a kiss at the nape of her neck for good measure. "This one is nice."

"Maybe." Nancy surveyed herself critically. "I don't think it's formal enough. Do you mind..." she said, gesturing to the zipper. "I'm sorry."

"No problem. I promise this is not the worst job I've ever been roped into," he said, watching her step out of the gown and return it to its hanger. "Can't beat the view, anyway."

"Hush," Nancy scolded affectionately.

"Knock, knock," Hannah called, pausing a moment before entering the room. "Nancy Drew, tell me you're not prancing around in your underthings with a boy in your room. Didn't I raise you better than that?"

Nancy tried to look contrite. "I'm sorry, Hannah. Please don't ground me."

"I just wanted to see which one you picked," Hannah said, watching Nancy step into another dress. "Here, I'll get the zip."

"I haven't decided yet." Nancy twirled a little and looked in the mirror. "Too red?"

"Too red," Hannah agreed. "You want something that doesn't make it look like you're trying to steal attention from the bride."

"Shoot," Joe groaned. "I guess I'd better go back to the mall and exchange my white ballgown for something more conservative."

"I think you'd better return the tiara, too," Nancy told him.

Hannah was regarding them both with amusement. "You don't have the figure for a ball gown, anyhow," she told Joe. "You should go with something a little slinkier, maybe show a little leg."

"I do have great legs," Joe agreed.

Nancy, who was reaching into the back of the closet, stifled her laugh in the lapel of a coat. She pulled a garment bag from the rack and pulled it forward.

"I think I've got it," she declared.

"Let's see it," Hannah said.

"This one belonged to my grandmother," Nancy said as she almost reverently slipped it on. The dress was a beautiful pale blue taffeta with a distinctively full 1950s skirt and a matching blue belt to cinch the waist. It was sleeveless and cut high in front, with a low back.

Nancy twirled a little. "What do you think? There are gloves to go with it, somewhere."

"I think your grandmother was a classy lady," Hannah said approvingly. "Nan, you're beautiful."

Nancy curtsied. "Thank you, ma'am." She looked at Joe. He seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

"Wear that one," he managed to say. "You're stunning."

"What time is the wedding?" Hannah asked, breaking the tension.

"Two o'clock tomorrow," Joe said, his brain switching on again.

"Please pass on my congratulations," Hannah said. "Would they like a cake, do you think?"

Joe considered this. "I think I overheard Frank discussing refreshments with our mom, but I'm not sure what they decided."

"I'll give Laura a call," Hannah said, rising. "I don't want to butt in on the ceremony, but I'd be happy to send along a little something for you to eat afterward."

"That's a very kind offer," Nancy said, folding her discarded jeans.

"Where are you off to now?" Hannah asked.

"We're meeting the bride and groom for dinner, once I get all my accessories together," Nancy said, her voice muffled in the casual dress she was pulling over her head.

"Accessories?" Joe asked.

"For tomorrow. Shoes, gloves, coat, stockings, garter belt, makeup...oh, and I'd better grab my good curling iron in case we need it. Cal's takes forever to heat up." She was assembling the necessary articles as she spoke, and tossing them all onto the bed.

"Are you all getting ready together at the apartment?" Hannah asked. "That's a bit unconventional."

"Frank and I are going over to our parents' place to get ready," Joe replied.

Nancy was still making her mental list. "Oh, and makeup!" she said, darting off into the bathroom.

"I'll leave you to it," Hannah called. "I'd like to make that phone call before it slips my mind." She bustled off downstairs, and Joe resumed his place on the bed.

"I'll only be a few minutes, Joe."

"No rush," he said amiably. "Can I help with anything?"

"You can stick all of this into a bag," Nancy said, dropping her cosmetics case and curling iron on the bed next the pile of lingerie. "I need to finish getting ready for dinner." She had already combed her hair and applied lipstick. Now, as Joe began filling a tote bag with her supplies, she sat down next to him to pull on her tights and her boots.

"Do you need this?" Joe asked, his fingers hesitating on her garter belt.

"No, not with these. Thanks though." She paused, holding her second boot, and looked up at him. "Disappointed?"

"A little." He slipped it into the bag and reached for her curling iron.

"It's a purely utilitarian garment, Joseph," Nancy said in her best "lecturing professor" tone. "I fail to see why you've elevated it to a sex symbol."

Joe tossed the cosmetics case on top and closed the bag. "Imprinting," he said solemnly.

"What?" Nancy asked, jolted out of her lecturing mode.

"You know, like ducklings? Except instead of imprinting on a mother figure, I imprinted on a-"

"Okay, I get it," Nancy interrupted. "Explain."

"I was sixteen the first time I saw you wearing garters. My impressionable little brain never stood a chance." He reached over and pulled her into his lap. At close range Nancy could see truth and mischief dancing in his eyes. He was being at once playful and completely honest, vulnerable and confident. Nancy wanted to kiss him. She narrowed her eyes at him instead, feigning anger.

"And how exactly did you catch a glimpse of my underwear back then?" she demanded.

"The Zdunowski case. We were undercover as guests at their New Year's Eve party, remember, and you ended up dangling off that third-floor balcony-"

"And you took a peek up my skirt while you were rescuing me? You pig."

"I couldn't help seeing! I tried not to!" Joe groaned. "Trust me, it would have been easier for me if I never saw it."

"Yes, I'm sure it made things very hard for you," Nancy said innocently. She leaned in and kissed him, slow and sweet, feeling her body respond to his touch and his words. But after a minute she pulled away, reluctant but resolved. "Joe, honey, we really have to go."

"We have time."

"Not much," Nancy pointed out.

"Enough," Joe said, kissing her.

"Joe, my lipstick..."

"To hell with the lipstick." He kissed her again. "I dreamed about you for years. But you're even sexier now than you were back then. And you're more than that. You're my friend, my partner. You're the bravest and kindest human I know." He rolled her over onto the bed, his body warm and pleasantly heavy on top of hers, his hand pushing up her skirt to caress her thigh.

"You're making it really hard for me to keep saying we should go," Nancy murmured into his ear.

Joe stopped kissing her neck long enough to answer. "We'll be quick."

"There's that legendary Hardy charm," Nancy giggled. "It's true, you know exactly what to say to a girl."

"Would you cut it out?" Joe grumbled, kissing her again. "You know I've never left you hanging. Trust me?"

"Always," Nancy said, growing serious at last.

"Then come here."

-

Frank raised an eyebrow at them as they approached the table, and Nancy blushed. Not many people had the power to make her blush anymore. Frank and Bess were probably the only ones who retained that ability. They were both extremely perceptive, in a way that made Nancy sure they could read her mind sometimes.

 _He's got to know why we're late_ , she thought. And sure enough, she saw Frank roll his eyes at his brother as they took their seats.

"We ordered drinks for you," he said dryly. "We figured you would need to rehydrate."

Nancy's cheeks burned hotter, but Joe did not look ashamed. "Thanks, man. That was very thoughtful."

"Boys, behave," Callie scolded. "Nan, it's okay. We've only been here a few minutes ourselves."

Joe reached for his menu. "What's good here?" he asked.

"The baklava!" Callie and Frank answered simultaneously. They looked at each other and started laughing at some private joke.

"My detective's instinct tells me it's going to be one of _those_ dinners," Joe said to Nancy behind his menu. Frank reached across the table and pushed the menu down.

"Sorry. We'll keep the inside jokes to a minimum."

"You're getting married tomorrow," Nancy said. "You can laugh at all the inside jokes you want to. I think it's cute."

"Nan, please!" Joe said. "Think about how long they've been dating before you say that. You've just given them permission to air over a decade's worth of this stuff."

"It really has been that long, hasn't it," Nancy said, surprised.

"It doesn't feel that long," Callie said, smiling. Frank lifted her hand and kissed it.

"You're right. It seems like about a week ago I was asking you out for the first time."

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, sped along by good food and joyful reminiscing. Finally Joe raised his glass and looked around the table, meeting each person's gaze in turn.

"I'd like to propose a toast," he said. "To Frank and Callie, who are so in love it's ridiculous. May you still be laughing about the damn baklava in a hundred years."

"To Frank and Callie," Nancy echoed.

"To us!" Callie said happily, raising her glass.

"To us," Frank repeated tenderly. "Cheers."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six: Vows

It wasn't the movement of the mattress so much as the quality of the movement which woke Nancy Wednesday morning. Where Joe would have bounced, this person slid. Instead of Joe's self-assured landing on the pillow, this person eased gently down with a long sigh. The intrusion was too obvious to ignore. Nancy rolled over reluctantly to protest and discovered a cascade of blonde hair, slightly damp from the shower and smelling strongly of a floral shampoo, spilling across Joe's pillow.

"I was positive I fell asleep with a different blond last night," Nancy said groggily. "How much wine did I have at dinner?"

Callie gave her a token smile. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Liar. You knew I'd wake up as soon as you got in."

"Okay, seriously. How do you always know everything?"

"It's a gift." Nancy burrowed her face back into the pillow.

"You've got to get up." Callie's voice held more pleading than command. Nancy sighed and came back up from the depths.

"Are the boys gone already?" she asked, resigning herself to consciousness.

"They left about an hour ago. Frank said they're going to go for a run before they get ready."

"Of course they are," Nancy said, with a blend of amusement and affection. She stretched, feeling out her joints and muscles. For the first time since she had taken the Connolly case she felt rested and ready for action. It was a good feeling. She stretched again, exploring the range of motion in her stitched side. Even that was beginning to feel normal again. Nancy sat up. Being awake seemed a little less onerous, now.

"I'm thinking of going for a run of my own," she told Callie.

Callie's face fell. "Oh. Okay."

"A coffee run, Cal. I'm not going to ditch you. I just need to run out for a caffeine fix, unless someone remembered to pick up groceries?"

"No, it completely slipped my mind. We're out of almost everything."

Nancy was not interested in the state of their kitchen cabinets. She was interested in Callie's sudden clinginess. Nancy reached out and took Callie's hand. "Talk to me, hon."

The relief on the other woman's face was unmistakable.

"I'm so nervous!" Callie blurted out, tears welling up in her brown eyes. "I didn't think I was going to be nervous. And I'm restless, and nauseated, and I just want to get this over with."

"Is that why you woke me up?"

Callie nodded."I felt like I was going to turn inside out if I spent one more second alone out there. And I know my mom said she was sorry, but I still don't feel like I can really talk to her, so..." Her voice trailed off unhappily.

Nancy scooted closer and wrapped her arms around her friend. "I'm glad you came to me. I'm listening."

"What if I puke during the ceremony? What if my dress won't fit? What if Frank changes his mind? What if my parents decide to make a scene? My dad hates Frank, Nan. He said so many bad things about him when I told them about the baby."

"Frank loves you with every cell in his body. He would never change his mind. And that is the only thing that matters today," Nancy said firmly, smoothing Callie's hair. "Put all that other stuff right out of your head. You're going to be fine, and you're going to marry the man you love. And if your parents so much as look at you wrong, Joe will personally toss them out into the parking lot. You know he'll do it."

Callie took a deep, shuddery breath, and Nancy could feel her body relax. "You're right," she mumbled into Nancy's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Callie Shaw, don't you dare apologize for the way you feel. You just keep telling me about it, and I'll keep reminding you that you've got this, and we'll make it to the ceremony." Nancy pulled back. "I think a field trip would do you some good. Come on my coffee run with me."

"But I need to do my hair," Callie said.

"We still have hours," Nancy pointed out. "Besides, I know you don't want to hang out here all by yourself."

"That is true."

"Let me get a quick shower, okay? And then we'll go." Nancy swung her legs out of bed. "Trust me. You'll feel better if you get out."

"Okay." Callie, too, slid off the bed. She headed out of the room, but hesitated in the doorway and looked back.

"Nan? Thanks."

Callie was painting when Nancy emerged into the living room. She looked up when she heard Nancy's footsteps.

"I should have thought of this hours ago. I feel so much calmer."

"Good," Nancy said, finishing off the braid she was using to secure her still-wet hair. "You don't have to stop if you'd rather stay here. I won't be long."

"No, I think I'd like to come," Callie said, putting down her brush.

Nancy grabbed her keys. "Great! And since it's your day, you get to pick where we get breakfast."

"Whoa. I said I'd ride along. I didn't say I was eating anything. I tried that earlier and it went badly."

"You need the energy," Nancy said compassionately. "And maybe now that you're more relaxed, you'll be able to keep something down."

"Maybe," Callie said, looking dubious. Nancy started to feel bad for dragging her out of the house. But that feeling dissipated quickly. Once in motion, Callie cheered up considerably.

"Look at all the sunshine!" she exclaimed. "We couldn't have had a nicer day if we'd ordered it custom-made."

"It's beautiful," Nancy agreed. After all the rain and snow the past week, the clear blue sky looked like a miracle.

"Let's go to Nico's," Callie suggested suddenly, naming a favorite local cafe. "I know they make good pancakes there."

"That baby has very specific taste in food," Nancy commented.

Once seated at Nico's, however, Callie changed her mind. "I'm going to have a Belgian waffle with strawberries," she told Nancy, setting aside her menu.

"An upgrade!" Nancy said approvingly.

"A Belgian waffle with strawberries, miss?" the waiter asked, waiting for confirmation. Callie jumped.

"I'm sorry, I did not see you coming," she told him.

"Yes, the whole staff just got extra stealth training," the young man joked. "It's the latest trend in fine dining."

"It certainly adds an element of interest to the experience," Callie said. She handed him her menu. "I will have the waffle, and a ginger ale, please."

"All right. And for you, miss?"

"I'll have the same, but with whipped cream on top, and the biggest cup of coffee you can find instead of the ginger ale," Nancy told him.

The cafe was not very busy at that hour. Their food arrived within a few minutes.

"Why have I never properly appreciated strawberries before?" Callie moaned, taking a bite. "These are incredible. These may be the best strawberries that have ever existed. Do you think Frank would mind if I married these instead?"

Nancy made no response. She was sipping her coffee, her eyes closed in bliss.

"Good coffee?" Callie said, smiling.

Nancy set the mug down with satisfaction. "So good."

"That's a relief, considering you ordered a whole pot of the stuff," Callie teased.

"I did not," Nancy said, wrapping her fingers around the oversized mug in front of her as though her small hands could disguise its dimensions.

"I'm pretty sure you did."

"Hey," Nancy said, laughing. "I won't judge your relationship with those strawberries if you won't judge my relationship with this coffee. Deal?"

"Deal," Callie said, capturing another berry with her fork.

"Is your stomach okay?" Nancy asked.

"So far, so good. I'll probably get nervous again when we start getting ready. But right now I'm fine."

After an enjoyable breakfast, the girls headed back to the apartment to begin the real work of the day: getting dressed.

"Grab your stuff and bring it over," Callie instructed, hanging up her coat. "Frank's bathroom is bigger than Joe's."

Nancy tossed her keys and purse onto the kitchen counter. Frank hated it when people did that, but Frank was not around to object. "Okay," she told Callie. "Let me change into something I can slip off without mussing my hair, later, and I'll be right over."

"Good idea. Oh, and I'll put on some music!" Callie called, darting off.

It only took Nancy a moment to shed her jeans and sweater and pull on one of Joe's button-down shirts. Then she slung her tote bag of supplies over her shoulder and headed over to Frank and Callie's room, rolling up the shirt's too-long sleeves as she went.

Callie was sitting on the bed, painting her nails. She looked Nancy up and down and whistled cheekily at her. "Very sexy," she said. "Want me to send a few pictures to your boy?" Callie herself had opted for shorts and a loose tank top.

"Do you want me to send some to yours?" Nancy countered, heading into the bathroom. She deposited her bag on the counter and began undoing her braid.

"He can wait. I packed something special to wear tonight," Callie said from the other room.

"Where are you going, anyway?" Nancy asked. She knew that Frank had made reservations somewhere for the night, but did not know the details.

"It's a gorgeous little bed and breakfast a little way upstate," Callie said. "Nan, did you bring your curling iron?"

"It's all plugged in and ready to go." Nancy stepped back out into the bedroom, fluffing the loose waves the braid had left in her hair. "I've already got some volume going on, so it's all yours, sweetie. May I rummage in your nail polish collection?"

"To your heart's content," Callie said, gesturing toward the bag in question.

The next few hours were spent in complete surrender to the thousand little rituals of femininity: painting and polishing, smoothing and scenting, preparing and adorning every part of the body for the coming celebration.

"The better we look, the worse the bathroom looks," Callie finally observed, taking stock of the once-tidy bathroom. Presumably, there was still a counter there; but it was practically invisible beneath the jumble. Bottles, jars, and cosmetics cases vied with pins, brushes, and styling products for space. Electrical cords snaked over and around the whole mess, leading to the curling iron, Callie's iPod, and multiple phone chargers.

"Maybe we should send Frank a picture of this," Nancy teased.

"Don't you stress him out. Not today," Callie said.

Nancy's phone chimed. "Speak of the devil," she said lightly, reaching for it.

"Is it really Frank?"

"No, it's Joe," Nancy told her.

"Ask him how Frank is doing. No, don't. Does that sound too desperate?"

Nancy raised an eyebrow at her friend. "You're acting like a high schooler with a crush, Cal. Want me to have Joe find out if he thinks you're pretty?"

"You're awful," Callie protested. "What does Joe want?"

"He's just saying hi. And he says Frank can't wait to see you."

Callie pinned one last curl into place and turned her head, examining herself from every angle. "Do I look all right?"

"You look wonderful," Nancy said warmly, setting her phone aside to admire Callie's artistry. She had pulled her long, blonde hair into a romantic braided updo, with soft curls framing her face. "I'm not even sure how you did that, and I was watching the whole time."

"It's not too much?"

"No. It suits you. Is mine okay? Is it too boring?" Nancy asked, placing one last pin in her simple chignon.

"It's not boring at all!" Callie said. "You always look so classy."

"Good, because I don't have time to re-do it," Nancy said, checking the clock. She reached for her makeup bag and began pulling out the things she intended to use that day. The task was an absorbing one; and it took a few minutes before she realized that Callie had gone quiet.

"Cal?" she said gently.

Callie had been staring at herself in the mirror, a makeup brush in her hand. Now she broke eye contact with her reflection and looked to Nancy.

"My hands are shaking," she said sheepishly. "I'm trying to calm down a little so my eyeliner won't look like Myra did it."

Nancy set down her eyelash curler. "I can do it, if you'd like."

"I don't want to be any trouble," Callie said.

"Think of it as part of my services as de facto bridesmaid," Nancy said. "I promise I won't go wild."

"No glitter eyeshadow?" Callie said, regaining a glimmer of her good spirits.

"No glitter," Nancy agreed.

"Well...as long as you'll still have time to finish your own face..."

"Cal, quit being so nice. It's your day," Nancy scolded, taking the brush from Callie's hand. She leaned in close, cupping Callie's chin to turn her face.

"I'm sorry you feel so nervous," she said, dipping the brush into the eyeliner.

"It's a good kind of nervous," Callie murmured. "More like anticipation."

"At least you're getting it all out of the way. In June, you'll be the calmest bride ever."

Callie's smile was genuine this time. "That's true. Plus, at least I don't have to be nervous about the wedding night."

"Yeah, that ship sailed a long time ago," Nancy said absently, concentrating on tracing the brush carefully along Callie's skin.

"I almost wish it hadn't," Callie said wistfully.

Nancy paused, surprised. "You regret sleeping with Frank?"

"No! Not at all. I was just thinking it would be nice to have that first time feeling again, though. All those butterflies, you know?"

"I didn't really have that," Nancy said, reaching for an eyeshadow palette.

"Nan. Everyone is nervous, their first time. I know you're brave, but that's almost superhuman."

Nancy shrugged. "I felt...curious, mostly, and resigned. That's all."

"That sounds unpleasant," Callie said, and then covered her mouth. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to sound judgmental. But you were...you were okay, right? This didn't happen on a case or something?"

"No," Nancy said quickly. "It was consensual. It was with Ned." She weighed her next words carefully, sifting through the sudden rush of memories. _Loud music, George dancing, Bess making out with a boy they had just met. A glass in her hand, deliciously cold against her skin, its contents sugar-sweet and molten with alcohol. She'd had a few sips and then abandoned it as Ned pulled her back onto the dance floor. The heat of Ned's hands, his body, his eyes. Ned, kissing her. Ned, rumpling her sundress with his wandering hands. Ned, leading her back to his hotel room. More kissing, molten like her drink. Fumbling with buttons and zippers in the tropical half-dark._

"We were in Brazil, and we'd just wrapped up a case. There was a party," Nancy said aloud, struggling to convey the right feeling to Callie. "Ned and I had been dating awhile, and it was the next step everyone expected us to take. It's not that I didn't want it. I did. I just wasn't swept away by passion or anything. It's the same reason I accepted his proposal, I guess, though I didn't realize that until much later."

"Oh, honey. Nothing against Ned, but you deserved better than that."

"It wasn't awful. And it wasn't as awkward as most people's first times seem to be."

"Mine wasn't awkward," Callie said firmly.

"Of course it wasn't. You and Frank are straight out of a storybook," Nancy teased gently. "Let me guess: he climbed up into your bedroom window like Romeo and Juliet without the grisly ending."

"Not even close."

"Really?"

"Sorry, Nan. Your detective instincts have finally failed you."

"Okay, then how did it happen?"

"The summer before our senior year, Frank took me out in the Sleuth to watch the Fourth of July fireworks over the bay."

"Hold on. You lost your virginity in a speedboat?" Nancy asked incredulously.

"Don't say it like that! You make it sound sordid," Callie protested, laughing. "It really wasn't. Just picture it: you're out in a little boat in the middle of the bay, all alone, with the boy you love. The air is just starting to get chilly, so you scoot close and he wraps his arms around you as you watch the fireworks overhead." She grinned. "Let's just say the fireworks weren't the only big finale that night."

"You two have hidden depths," Nancy said, sweeping mascara along Callie's lashes. "I would never have guessed that. Never."

"I'm still sad for you," Callie said. "Wait. What about your first time with Joe? That must have been better."

A very different set of memories surfaced. Nancy smiled, half-turning her face to hide it from Callie. "It was an impulsive hookup. Hot as hell, but not really romantic," she said.

"I don't believe that for a minute," Callie retorted.

"Okay. I may have had a butterfly or two," Nancy conceded, and left it at that, because she would have felt foolish saying _it felt like skydiving, like solving a puzzle, like coming home. I'd never given myself so completely before, body and mind and heart, and I never will again._ She changed the subject, instead.

"All those years ago, did you ever imagine you'd be marrying him?"

"I didn't imagine it. I knew it."

Nancy set down the mascara. "Okay. You just need lipstick, and you're all set."

"That was fast." Callie opened her eyes, flutteringly, and turned to the mirror. "Oh, Nan! I love it. Thank you so much. This is perfect."

"You're welcome," Nancy said, reaching for her own makeup bag again. "You can finish telling me how wonderful I am some other time. Right now you'd better start getting dressed." She had just checked the time again, and had been astonished to find that the nearly endless expanse of time which had stretched before them that morning had now dwindled down to almost nothing.

"Right. The dress." Callie darted out of the room. "The moment of truth," she called dramatically. "It has to fit. It just has to. Right?"

"It's going to fit," Nancy called back. "Do you have your old, new, borrowed, and blue?"

There was a pause. "Damn," Callie said. "Do you have something I can borrow? Anything. A bobby pin, or a stick of gum, or-"

"You are not chewing gum at your wedding! Wear my diamond drop earrings," Nancy suggested. "They're on Joe's dresser."

Callie re-appeared just as Nancy was applying her own lipstick. "These are perfect. Thanks, Nan."

"Anytime," Nancy told her. "You're all set now?"

Callie nodded. "Old locket," she said, holding up her delicate antique necklace. "New wedding dress. Borrowed earrings. And as you can see, blue underwear."

"That covers it," Nancy agreed. "Let's get you buttoned into that dress."

They dressed quickly, with more solemnity than they had felt thus far.

"It's starting to feel real," Callie commented.

"Are you ready?" Nancy asked, leading the way out of the bedroom. She pulled on her coat and retrieved her keys while Callie settled a warm faux-fur wrap around her shoulders. The other woman's cheeks were pink with more than cosmetics, and her eyes sparkled, but she looked at peace.

"I'm ready," she said simply.

The couples had agreed to meet in the courthouse lobby, but Callie and Nancy had only just approached the building when they met Frank and Joe coming from the other direction. There was no aisle to walk, no formal procession, no church filled with expectant faces; but to Nancy, it still felt like a holy moment. Bride and groom met in that same time-freezing flash of joy beyond comprehension which Nancy had witnessed at scores of weddings, and the kiss Frank gave Callie was a benediction in itself. Nancy blinked away an unexpected tear and took the arm Joe was offering her, drawing him a little way apart to give Frank and Callie a moment of privacy.

"You're beautiful," Joe whispered, bending his head to kiss her. He handed her a single red rose.

"Thank you," she murmured back, thanking him for the compliment and the flower all at once. She touched the petals gently, smiled, and looked him over with approval. Joe always could carry himself well in nice clothes, though the effect was not quite as respectable as Frank's appearance. As always, there was something rakish about the younger Hardy brother, some quality which suggested that his appearance would not be so immaculate by the end of the day if he could help it.

"You look good. Very James Bond," Nancy teased, straightening his bow tie.

He leaned in close again, brushing her ear with his lips as he whispered "Up for a little role-playing later? I wouldn't mind fending off a _femme fatale_ bent on assassinating me."

"Joe Hardy, this is supposed to be a sacred occasion," Nancy scolded, blushing.

"So the answer is yes?" He was as irrepressible as always.

"What makes you think I couldn't assassinate you?" Nancy retorted.

"There's only one way to find out," he replied. The look he gave her carried so much heat it made her shiver.

"Joe, I don't know what you're saying to her, but shame on you," Callie called suddenly, breaking the tension.

"Why do you always assume I'm misbehaving?" Joe protested.

"She knows you that well," Frank said dryly. "Come on. Let's go in." He offered Callie his arm, and together they headed for the courthouse door.

"Are your parents here yet?" Nancy asked, falling into step with Joe behind the bridal couple.

"They should be here in a minute."

"Are Callie's?"

Joe shrugged. "No clue. She didn't hear from them?"

"No." Nancy lowered her voice. "I promised Callie you'd throw them out if they cause any trouble."

"I almost hope they give me a reason to," Joe said, with his most unsettling grin.

Their parents arrived only a few minutes later-both sets at once, as it turned out, the Shaws evidently having met up with the Hardys in the parking lot. It was an awkward group, Nancy could see that immediately; and all four parents' faces looked noticeably relieved when they reached their waiting offspring.

"You all look wonderful!" Mrs. Hardy exclaimed, distributing hugs all around. "Let me get some pictures of you."

"Mom, can't we do that after?" Frank said.

"I'm going to be taking pictures all day," Mrs. Hardy told him. "But for now let's just get a few of you boys, so Callie can have a moment with her parents."

Nancy watched with amusement as Laura pulled Frank, Joe, and Fenton to one side and began taking pictures. Frank looked uncomfortable, Joe was goofing off, and Fenton only had one expression when a camera was pointed his way: the "government photo ID" scowl.

"Joe, honey, I wish you hadn't gotten a head wound right before your brother's wedding," Laura sighed, clicking away.

"You're right, that was really inconsiderate of me. Is this better?" Joe asked, inverting himself into a headstand suddenly so that his feet were on level with his brother's and father's faces.

"Take it, quick!" Fenton called, grabbing Joe's ankles. "This is his good side!"

Nancy let the ensuing laughter and wisecracks fade into the background. She glanced, instead, over to her other side, where the Shaws were gathered. So far, things seemed to be going all right. Mr. Shaw was standing a few steps back, glowering at the whole group from beneath his thick, dark eyebrows. But Mrs. Shaw was making an effort to speak to her daughter.

"Your bouquet is lovely," she said awkwardly.

"Thank you. Frank surprised me with it," Callie said.

"And- and if you just hold it- here, hold it like that," Mrs. Shaw said, positioning Callie's hands in front of her torso. "Now it covers you up a little."

Callie's eyes widened. But Nancy did not catch her reply, because just then Mrs. Hardy touched her shoulder.

"Nancy, will you take one of the four of us?" she asked, pressing her camera into Nancy's hands. Nancy obediently aimed the camera and captured a few shots.

"Great. Thanks, sweetie. Now, one more. Just Frank and Fenton," Laura said. "And let's do it over there, by that window."

Joe joined Nancy as she handed the camera off to Laura. He was watching Callie, too.

"She doesn't look happy," he murmured to Nancy. "Can I toss 'em out yet?"

"Give them a chance to work through it," Nancy murmured back, hoping she was making the right call. Mrs. Shaw was talking again.

"Callie, you don't have to go through with this."

"I know I don't have to. But I want to," Callie said earnestly.

"It may seem romantic now, but what about a year from now? Six months, even?" Mrs. Shaw stepped closer, lowering her voice. "He's always going to remember that he got pressured into this. Men can't be happy in a relationship like that. Just think about it, Callie. I don't want to see you go through that pain."

Callie looked flabbergasted. "I promise, no one got pressured into this. Especially not Frank."

"What about you?" Mr. Shaw snapped, speaking for the first time. "It's not enough that the arrogant bastard used you like he did. Now he wants control over you and your kid. You're making a big mistake."

That was the final straw. Before anyone else could speak Joe was there, putting a protective arm around Callie's shoulders.

"Excuse me, sir, but that arrogant bastard is my brother," he said. "If you had a problem with him, you should have worked it out before coming to this wedding."

"Back off, son. This isn't your business," Mr. Shaw said.

"Actually, it is," Joe said coolly. "Part of my job here today is to make sure nobody talks to my sister like that. Because unlike you, we all love her a lot, and we want her to have a beautiful day. So you can either shut up or get out."

"I don't like your tone, young man," Mr. Shaw said.

"And I don't give a flying fuck what you like," Joe said. Beside him, Callie half-laughed, half-sobbed. Her father's face was turning a deep shade of red.

"What did you say to me?"

"You heard me. I'm not the one marrying your daughter. I don't have to pull any punches. I'm not letting you bully her, and that's my final warning."

"Here's a little warning for you," Mr. Shaw said, stepping closer. "You better get that chip off your shoulder before someone knocks it off for you. No puffed-up clotheshorse of a kid detective gets to tell me how to treat my own daughter."

"Charles," Mrs. Shaw said tremulously, grabbing his arm.

By now the rest of the Hardys had gathered around. Frank moved in to stand by his brother.

"Is there a problem, Joe?"

"No problem here, Frank. Charlie and I were just exchanging pleasantries," Joe spat, transferring Callie gently to her fiance's arm.

"Hardy, get your little brother on a leash," Mr. Shaw rumbled.

Frank slapped his pockets. "Damn. I seem to have left his collar at home."

"This is no joke."

"No, it's not. It's my wedding day, actually, and I take that pretty seriously," Frank said. "And on that note, I think the judge is ready for us. Are you ready, Cal?"

Callie's eyes were dry, now. She looked up at Frank as though he were the only one in the room with her. "I'm ready," she said softly.

After the anticipation of the morning, and all the emotions building up to this moment, Nancy was surprised to find the ceremony passing in what felt like a heartbeat. She stood behind Callie, holding her bouquet, and filed away impressions like a strand of jewels in her mind: the hush in the room and the palpable sense of joyful solemnity, despite the aftershocks of Mr. Shaw's anger. Frank's face, filled with pride and adoration. Callie's luminous smile. Joe's expression as he listened to his brother speak his vows, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration, his eyes heavy with the weight of the occasion. The way Frank's hands shook as he slid the ring onto Callie's finger. The purity of their first kiss as a married couple.

And then suddenly Frank and Callie were turning toward their parents, hands clasped, faces radiant. Joe let out an exuberant whistle, breaking the spell. Suddenly everyone was talking and laughing and embracing all at once.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hardy, everyone!" Joe announced from the outskirts of the crowd, and Frank pulled Callie in for another kiss.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Nancy turned. It was the judge, holding out a clipboard. "Sorry to disturb you, but I need witness signatures from you and that young man. Just here, please, and here."

"No problem," Nancy said, beckoning to Joe. He slipped through the crowd, looking inquisitive.

"Everything okay?"

"Quite," the judge said. "I simply need your John Hancock."

"Oh, right." Joe took the clipboard, added his signature, and handed it over to Nancy. She signed slowly, carefully, suddenly struck by the profundity of the simple action. Her gaze lingered on the document for a moment, taking in Frank's angular cursive, Callie's graceful curves, Joe's old-fashioned hand- each name so expressive of the character of its inscriber. This was going on record, forever. There was something poignant about that small personal touch there, beneath the impersonality of the legal form. Nancy took a deep breath.

"If their great-great-grandchildren decide to do some poking around in their family history, someday, this is one of the documents they're going to find," she said, touching the ink of Frank's name. She was not sure if anyone else would understand her line of thought. But the judge's eyes were kind behind his glasses, and he was nodding.

"It gives you a new appreciation for red tape, doesn't it, Miss Drew," he said.

Nancy handed the clipboard back. "And for weddings," she said. "I'd never thought of them as that important, before."

"That's where you're wrong, young lady. Every union changes the course of history," the judge said.

Joe looked thoughtful. "Like a thousand little pieces making up one picture on a puzzle," he said.

"An excellent image," the judge said. "Now, if you'll excuse me- I believe your party requires you for a photograph."

Mrs. Hardy was indeed calling to them. Nancy and Joe excused themselves and re-joined the family, Joe promptly disrupting the proceedings by launching himself at Callie and Frank and squeezing them in a bear hug.

"Let me in," Nancy scolded, working her way in to embrace Callie. "Congratulations!"

"Children," Mrs. Hardy said affectionately. "Humor me for a minute. I just want to take a few more."

"That's code for a few hundred," Frank whispered to Joe.

"Just smile, boys," Callie said, posing prettily.

Frank's estimate was not far off. But finally, Mrs. Hardy seemed satisfied.

"I hope you'll join us for a brief reception at our house," she told the Shaws as she packed away her camera.

"But I didn't bring anything..." Mrs. Shaw demurred.

"Oh, don't worry about that. Hannah Gruen dropped the cake off this morning, and we're having some light appetizers to go along with it. Please come."

Next to Nancy, Joe was shaking his head. "Some party that's going to be," he muttered.

"Hush," Nancy whispered. "It's going to be fine. Look how happy they are." The happiness was contagious, too. Nancy turned back toward Callie and hugged her again.

"I can't believe you're married!"

"I know!" Callie said giddily, holding up her hand to admire the wedding band gleaming there. Frank held up his, too, and laughed.

"Believe it," he said, wrapping his arms around both Nancy and Callie and pulling them tight enough to make them squeal. He planted a kiss on Nancy's cheek, surprising her, and then turned to Callie for another long, just-married kiss.

"May I have my girl back?" Joe asked, reaching in to extricate Nancy. "It doesn't seem fair for you to get both of them."

"Don't worry, Joe. I'm not sharing Frank with anybody," Callie declared, wrapping her arms around Frank's neck and pulling him in for another kiss.

Nancy had never seen this level of public affection from them. She caught herself staring. "I am so glad they're not staying at the apartment tonight," she said under her breath, making Joe laugh.

"I second that," he said. "Come on, lovebirds. I'm ready for that cake!"

Aunt Gertrude, who had declined an invitation to the ceremony itself, had been busy at home. The Hardys' dining room table was covered with Laura's heirloom lace tablecloth. Several inviting-looking trays of hors d'oerves were positioned on the table. Hannah's beautiful cake, flanked by vases of carnations, completed the display. There was even a bottle of champagne on ice.

"Aunt Gertrude, everything looks delicious," Frank said, hugging the older woman gently. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I wanted to make a real luncheon. All this silly little food was your mother's idea," Gertrude said tartly. "And now I suppose you'll all be drinking and carrying on all afternoon."

"You won't mind it so much if you join in, Auntie," Joe said cheerfully.

"I'll do the honors," Fenton boomed, making his way to the table. He popped the cork and poured the champagne while Frank quietly filled glasses with cider for himself, Callie, and Gertrude.

"Public speaking isn't my strength, so I'll keep this short," Fenton said, distributing glasses to everyone else. He cleared his throat. "Son, I remember the first time you asked Callie out on a date. She said no." There was a general wave of laughter. Callie blushed and hid her face in Frank's shoulder. "Fortunately you inherited my stubborn streak, and then some. And even more fortunately, Callie decided to give you a shot. I've watched you two grow up together, and I always hoped this day would come. And hell, here we are." Fenton raised his glass. "I told you I'd be brief. To my son and his beautiful bride. Health and happiness all the days of their lives."

"Health and happiness," everyone echoed.

"All right," Mrs. Hardy called, as soon as the toast had been drunk. "Come up here and cut the cake, you two."

"And none of that smashing nonsense," Gertrude added.

"Oh, no," Callie said sweetly. "I'll save that for the big wedding."

"For maximum embarrassment?" Frank said, lifting a bite to Callie's lips.

"You know it," she told him, reciprocating. For a moment the two seemed lost in their own world. Then Frank tenderly tipped Callie's face up and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

"Our big wedding is going to be fun," Callie said softly, "but I'm beginning to think it won't hold a candle to today. Thank you all so much for being there as witnesses, and for this beautiful reception." She was beginning to get teary-eyed. Frank grabbed a napkin and pressed it into her hand.

"You deserve nothing less," Laura Hardy said, grabbing a napkin for herself. "We love you both."

"We do," Mrs. Shaw echoed, very quietly. Her husband said nothing.

There was a bit of a pause, while Callie and Laura dabbed at their eyes. Then Gertrude stepped briskly forward.

"If there are no more speeches, I'll serve the cake," she said, suiting her actions to her words.

Nancy had been worried, despite her earlier assurance to Joe, that the Shaws or Gertrude would spoil the celebration somehow; but as everyone ate their cake and began to mingle, the atmosphere in the room remained largely joyful. Laura Hardy was a gracious and practiced hostess who soon had even the stiff and nervous Shaws feeling more at ease. It was true that Joe's hackles were still up due to Charles Shaw's proximity, but out of deference to Frank's feelings he remained nothing but charming. And the newly-married couple's unabashed happiness pervaded the room like the bubbles in the champagne, lifting everyone's spirits.

"You were right," Joe said, passing by on his way to acquire a second slice of cake.

"Of course I was right," Nancy said, flashing him a smile like a meteor. Joe paused, backtracked, and kissed her.

"More champagne?" he asked.

"No, thanks."

He dropped another kiss on her forehead, light as a snowflake, and continued on his way, only to be intercepted by Aunt Gertrude. Nancy watched their confrontation play out, amused but also glad she was not in Joe's shoes.

"Seconds, already?" the formidable woman asked. She was the same height as Joe, but she still managed to create the impression of frowning down at him. "Gluttony doesn't pay, Joseph."

"But we didn't have lunch!" Joe said.

"You can't fill up on cake!" Gertrude told him. "You're as bad as that Morton boy."

"Aunt Gert, look at these abs," Joe said, patting his trim midsection. "I think I'm entitled to extra cake on a special occasion."

"Don't you 'Aunt Gert' me with that smile of yours," Gertrude scolded. "It's not going to get you anywhere with me, young man."

Laughing, Nancy turned away. Between Joe's inability to admit defeat and Gertrude's iron will, this conversation could go on awhile. As entertaining as it was to watch, Nancy also wanted to check up on Callie.

She found Callie in the living room, ensconced in an armchair like a queen on her throne. She had been speaking with her mother, but she bounced up when she saw Nancy.

"Nancy!" she cried happily. "Come here."

Nancy just managed to deposit her cake plate safely on the arm of the chair before Callie pulled her into an exuberant hug.

"Thank you so much for taking care of me this morning. I couldn't have done this without you," Callie said.

"I just gave you a little nudge. The momentum was all your own," Nancy said.

Fenton approached as the girls broke apart. He had two glasses of water, which he handed to Callie and her mother. "Here you go, Callie, Margaret. Shenanigans, can I get you anything?"

"Shenanigans! I like that one," Nancy said, retrieving her cake.

"It does seem appropriate, doesn't it?" Fenton said jovially.

"Now you sound like Chief McGinnis," Nancy joked.

Fenton took a seat. "I hear you wrapped up another case."

"We did," Nancy confirmed.

"Are you and Joe thinking of making this a regular thing?"

Nancy nodded. "We're going to be partners."

"I'm glad to hear that," Fenton said with approval. "Joe's been doing well for himself, but he's not the lone wolf type. He works best with a partner. But what about you, Nancy? Is it going to be an adjustment?"

"I may not have started with a built-in partner, but I enjoy having a teammate," Nancy said.

"Darling, are you talking shop again?" Laura asked, resting a hand on her husband's shoulder.

"Nancy started it!" Fenton said, winking at Nancy.

"This is a happy occasion. No detective talk," Laura decreed. "Especially in front of poor Margaret."

"Is that even possible?" Callie asked.

"No, but a girl can dream," Laura said lightly. She leaned down and kissed the top of Fenton's head. "When you get a moment, you should ask Charles about Rich Zinsser. He ran into him in Chicago last month and he has the funniest story."

"By which she means that I should mingle more," Fenton said to Callie. "All right, dear. I'll go do my host-ly duty."

Nancy stood up, too. Callie, her mother, and her mother-in-law were absorbed in conversation. Fenton had joined Charles and Gertrude on the sofa and was talking away, his booming laugh punctuating the rumble of masculine voices. Gertrude was knitting and pretending not to listen in. And Frank and Joe were standing off to the side, comparing a schematic in a book to something on Joe's phone and discussing the whole thing with great animation. Nancy felt a brief twinge of misgiving.

 _I'm the only one here who isn't family_ , she thought, grabbing a few empty dishes and heading for the kitchen. A little bit of work would help. She would wash a few dishes and give herself some breathing space.

She was only absent for ten minutes, but when she stepped out of the kitchen Joe seized her hand as though he had not seen her all day.

"Where did you disappear to?" he asked, pulling her into an impromptu waltz.

"I washed a few dishes."

"You don't have to be useful. It's a party."

"I wanted to," she told him. "I was beginning to feel a little intrusive."

Joe frowned, and his feet stopped moving. "Nan," he said firmly, "you belong here. Don't second-guess that."

"Even if I'm here under false pretenses...Mr. Bond?" Nancy breathed into his ear. Joe groaned.

"Wait until after the party to kill me," he whispered back.

"No promises," Nancy said.

"That reminds me," Joe said suddenly. "Did you bring the stuff?"

"Would I let you down? It's in my car. When are we going to do it?"

Joe looked around. Everyone was still occupied. "Now seems as good a time as any," he said.

"Let's go."

Sneaking out, unobserved, was easy for people with their level of experience. Once outside, Nancy unlocked her car and retrieved the pack of window markers from the back seat.

"I can't believe Callie didn't notice those," Joe said.

"She had a lot on her mind." Nancy hopped a little, rubbing her arms to warm them. "Hurry up. It's chilly out here."

Joe tossed her a marker. "It'll go faster if you help out."

Working quickly, they wrote "Just Married" across the back window of Frank's car. Nancy finished the job by adorning the corners with pink hearts.

"That was a bit anticlimactic," Joe complained, capping his marker. "What else can we do? Tie tin cans to the bumper?"

"True art is knowing when to stop. Callie taught me that." Nancy linked arms with him, smiling up into his face. "Let's get back in before someone notices we're gone."

"Or we could take advantage of the fact that we're alone, and you're beautiful."

"Out here, in the driveway? I don't think so."

"There's a perfectly good barn right over there."

Nancy kissed him. "I love you, but there are limits."

The dynamic inside had shifted while they were gone. People were moving, setting their dishes in the kitchen, retrieving their coats.

"You're not going to leave without throwing your bouquet!" Joe protested.

"Do I really need to play catch with Nancy?" Callie asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Why should girls get all the fun?" Joe demanded, sinking into a catcher's crouch. He smacked a fist into the palm of his other hand, pretending he was wearing a baseball glove. "Come on, Shaw, show us what you've got."

"You're ridiculous," Callie told him.

Joe just grinned. "If I catch it, Nan, you have to propose to me!"

"It's on, Hardy. You have no chance," Nancy said, jostling him playfully.

"Don't go easy on them, Cal!" Frank called from the sidelines.

"But these are too pretty to throw away. Promise I get these back after you catch them," Callie said over her shoulder, making everyone laugh.

"I promise I'll give them back," Nancy said.

"She means she'll do the handoff for me," Joe added.

Callie lobbed the bouquet in a gentle arc. Nancy reached for it, feeling her fingertips graze a stem as it sailed by. Joe actually leapt sideways and dove for it. But the roses landed safely in the outstretched hands of Laura Hardy.

"And that's what happens when you get cocky!" she said, offering her youngest son a hand up from the floor.

"I'm not so sure I like that omen," Fenton joked.

Laura turned her smile toward him. "It's a sign that we should definitely do that vow renewal ceremony we were thinking about," she said. "Here you are, Callie. Not a petal out of place."

"Thank you all, again," Frank said, taking Callie's hand. "We'll see you for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow."

"I hope we got an extra turkey, because they're going to work up a big appetite," Joe said, purely to make his brother blush.

"Joseph," Laura scolded.

"If I had a dollar for every time someone used my full name today..." Joe said, shaking his head. He caught his mother glaring at him and trailed off, stepping forward instead to shake his brother's hand and kiss Callie's cheek. "Sorry. Congratulations," he said warmly.

There followed a flurry of goodbyes and congratulations, during which Laura hugged everyone in the room, Joe pulled Frank aside and handed him something which made him blush again, Mrs. Shaw gave her daughter a tentative hug, and Mr. Shaw shook Frank's hand without saying a word.

"Drive carefully, son," Fenton said finally.

"I will," Frank promised, helping Callie arrange her wrap around her shoulders. "Goodbye!"

"Thank you all for everything. We've had the most wonderful day," Callie called over her shoulder.

Everyone piled out onto the porch to see them off and to wave until the car had disappeared around the corner.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven: After the Wedding

Laura was the first to speak. "Well," she said briskly, turning back toward the house. "That's that, then. They're really married."

"And we're left with the dishes," Gertrude concluded pragmatically.

"I can help with those," Margaret Shaw offered hesitantly.

"I don't ordinarily like to put my guests to work," Laura said. "But since you're family now, I'll take you up on that offer."

Charles, who was following Fenton toward the living room, made a sound that may have been a snort.

 _Don't,_ Nancy pleaded silently, catching Joe's eye. Sure enough, he had opened his mouth to say something to the older man; but he closed it, now, and stalked off into the kitchen. Nancy followed. The three older women were already there.

"I suppose I might as well start scrubbing," Gertrude announced to the room at large.

"Gertrude, you've done so much already. Why don't you go lie down for a bit?" Laura suggested gently.

Gertrude was not quite ready to relinquish her role as martyr. "Oh, I'm not sure I could rest, knowing I'd left the kitchen looking like this."

"Go on, Auntie. We've got this," Joe said, tying one of his mother's floral aprons on over his tux. He had already shed the jacket somewhere, and now he began rolling his shirt sleeves up to the elbow.

"Well..." Gertrude said slowly. "My head does ache. I think I will, if you're sure you can do without me."

Laura was definitely suppressing a laugh now. "If we need you, I'll come get you," she promised.

Gertrude paused as she passed near her nephew and added a final remark in a loud stage whisper. "That Drew hussy tried to wash some things already. You'll want to re-wash those."

"I'll use extra soap," Joe whispered back, reaching for a plate and inspecting it gravely.

"You're supposed to be on my side!" Nancy protested, once Gertrude was safely out of earshot.

"Joey, put that down. I'm sure Nancy did a fine job on those," Laura scolded.

"Hannah made sure I knew my way around a kitchen. That includes clean-up," Nancy said.

"Honey, you don't need to defend yourself to me," Laura told her. "Will you help me put away these leftovers, please?"

For a few minutes they worked in harmony: Nancy and Laura packing away the food, Margaret collecting dirty dishes, glasses, and utensils, Joe washing up. But before long Joe paused, cocking his head at Margaret.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked politely.

"N-no," she faltered, jerking her curious gaze off him.

Joe persisted. "Does my apron not match my shoes? Are you wondering how I hurt my head? Every time I look up, you're staring at me."

"I'm sorry. It's...it's odd to see a man washing dishes."

"Egads!" Joe yelped, holding up his sudsy hands in horror. "Is that what I'm doing? I thought I was changing the brake pads in Dad's car!"

Margaret looked uncertain how to handle this.

"My boys have been washing dishes from the time they could reach the sink," Laura said breezily. "They helped get them dirty, so it was only fair for them to help clean up."

"I just don't think- I mean, I would never expect Charles to help out in the kitchen," Margaret said after a moment. She was still looking at Joe with mingled curiosity and puzzlement. This was clearly a new perspective for her.

Nancy, meanwhile, had been in charge of transferring the cake from its plate to an airtight container. Now she squeezed in beside Joe at the sink, wiggling icing-smeared fingers at him.

"May I wash my hands? The cake fought back."

"And waste all that icing?" Joe asked.

"You're right! What was I thinking?" Nancy said, putting her index finger playfully to his lips. He leaned forward and caught it with his teeth, nibbling a little to make her squeal before sucking the icing off.

"Am I free to wash now?" Nancy asked, her eyes sparkling.

"I don't know. Do you have icing anywhere else?" Joe murmured back.

"Joseph! Not in front of the old folks," Laura admonished.

"Yes, Mother," he said meekly, making room for Nancy to wash her hands.

Laura held up a sealed freezer bag. "I assume these are the slices you set aside for Frank and Callie?"

"Yes. I wrapped them in foil and then put them in the bag. Hopefully it'll still taste good on their anniversary," Nancy said, drying her hands on Joe's apron.

"I hope so. It would be a shame if it didn't," Laura said, popping the bag into the freezer.

"It really was delicious," Margaret said. "Hannah always did have a knack for baking."

"I'll give her a call later and let her know how much we enjoyed it. I wish she would have joined us today," Laura said.

"You know Hannah. She didn't want to intrude," Nancy said. "But she'll be so happy to know that everyone enjoyed the cake."

"I'm so happy Callie was able to enjoy it," Laura added. "Is it my imagination or has she been feeling a little better lately, Nan?"

"She's doing much better. I think it's a combination of less stress and figuring out which foods to avoid," Nancy said.

"She was in bad shape this morning," Joe commented.

"Well, she was nervous," Nancy told him. She couldn't help but notice the pinched look on Margaret's face. She was prepared to overlook it. But to her surprise, Laura spoke up.

"Is something wrong, Margaret?"

"It's Callie," Margaret said. "It's hard seeing her struggle with the consequences of her bad decision."

Because Nancy had known Laura Hardy most of her life, she could pick up on her tells, the subtle changes in body language which indicated emotion. At this moment, it was clear to her that Laura was angry. Laura's gracious expression never flickered, though, and her voice remained as mild as ever.

"Oh, I wouldn't call it that," she said lightly.

Margaret shook her head. "What am I supposed to call it? I'm sorry, but I lack your naivete. I have no proof that your son is going to be a good father. I have no proof that he didn't pressure Callie into anything. She was a good girl until she met him."

At the sink, Joe made an odd noise, like he was choking back a laugh. "You're casting my brother as the bad boy in this little drama? Have you _met_ Frank?"

"What am I supposed to think about a boy who runs all over the world, getting involved with the worst kinds of people, in total disregard of authority? Carrying on as though there were no adults working in law enforcement. Oh, no, the Hardy boys had to take it upon themselves to look after everyone else." Though soft, Margaret's voice was filled with contempt. "You've always acted above the law you claim to uphold. And I won't even go into the motorcycles, and the speedboat, and the flying...you run wild, that's all there is to it. My poor Callie is just one more thing Frank Hardy felt entitled to. Charles has pointed this out to Callie thousands of times over the years, but she won't listen."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Margaret. All I can tell you is to wait and see. There's not a man on Earth more responsible and devoted than my Frank." Laura paused. "I wish you had been more forthcoming at dinner last week. I thought we had worked all of this out."

Margaret mumbled something inaudible.

"Family is family," Laura said sternly. "Maybe they got things a little out of order, but they certainly didn't do it to spite you. And you're going to miss out on a lot of precious things in life if you can't unbend a little and appreciate them."

No one had a reply to that. Margaret's face was flushed; Laura's was calm, still, but her eyes were sad. Joe finished up rinsing the last plate and shut off the water, leaving behind a silence like a vacuum. Nancy bit her tongue on the impulse to fill that vacuum, on the thousand inane sentences rushing through her mind, and waited.

"I think I'll put some coffee on," Laura said finally. "Would you like a cup, Margaret?"

 _It's an olive branch,_ Nancy realized. Laura was offering another chance to talk things out, to help Margaret ease her mind. But Margaret either did not understand the gesture, or was not ready to accept it.

"No, thank you," she said. "We won't impose on you any longer."

Laura did not argue. "Joe, will you please get our guests' coats?"

"Yes, ma'am. Gladly." Joe slipped silently from the room, tossing the apron over the back of a chair as he went.

Another stilted silence fell over the room. When Laura spoke again it was impulsively, her voice trembling with emotion.

"Whatever our differences, I hope you know that we love Callie as though she were our own. Please don't worry about her. And please, please, don't give up on her."

Before Margaret could answer, Charles was looming up in the doorway, pulling on his coat. "Ready, Meggie?"

She nodded and accepted her coat from Joe. The moment had passed. She shook Laura's hand stiffly.

"Thank you for having us."

"Yes, thanks for this. We'll be sure to have you folks over for cake and champagne when they get divorced," Charles said.

Laura closed the door on him, a bit harder than necessary.

"It's like rolling stones uphill, dealing with those people!" she exclaimed. "Oh, children, I may need something a little stronger than coffee."

"Would you like me to make margaritas? That was always Bess's prescription for dealing with stress," Nancy offered.

"No, thank you," Laura said. "At my age I shudder to imagine the hangover I'd have after mixing champagne and margaritas. And on Thanksgiving, no less. Joey, are you leaving too?"

Joe had indeed retrieved his own coat and Nancy's along with the Shaws'. Nancy could see restlessness in his eyes.

"If you're ready, Nan," he said, handing over her coat.

"Where's your dad?" Laura asked, measuring coffee into the coffee maker.

"Asleep in the recliner. So much for being a good host, right?" Joe said. He grinned, suddenly, for the first time since Margaret began her accusations. "Charlie was watching _Family Feud_ out there."

Laura laughed outright. " _Family Feud?_ How appropriate." She pushed the button to begin brewing her coffee. "I suppose I should let Fenton rest," she said wistfully, more to herself than to Nancy or Joe. Nancy felt a surge of guilt. Laura obviously wanted some company; and Nancy did not like the thought of leaving her alone in that house, which seemed so quiet and hollow now that the party was over.

"Joe, would you like a cup of coffee for the road?" she asked quietly, hoping he would catch her meaning.

"I guess that couldn't hurt," he said, nodding reluctantly at her behind his mother's back.

"Oh, no you don't," Laura said. "I know what you're doing. You're both very sweet, but I'll be fine. I'm planning to sit down with that coffee and call up Hannah for a nice long gab." She patted Nancy's shoulder. "Besides, I can tell you're worn out and Joe's ready to run. If you don't get him out of here soon he's going to start taking appliances apart or doing cartwheels across the dining room."

"I still say you should've joined the family business," Joe said admiringly.

"You do have good instincts," Nancy agreed.

Laura waved a hand at them. She had been busy at the counter, packing a few slices of cake into a small container. Now she handed this container to Joe. "Take your cake and go, you flatterers. I expect to see you both tomorrow afternoon."

"We wouldn't miss it," Joe said, leaning in to give his mother a kiss on the cheek. Laura grabbed him, while he was close, and pulled him in for a longer-than-usual hug. When she let go, Nancy saw tears on her face.

"My babies are all grown up," she said, patting Joe's cheek. "Nancy, come here. You get a hug too. Now run along, you two, and enjoy your evening."

-

In the driveway, Nancy wordlessly held out the keys and was relieved when Joe took them.

"You don't want to drive?" he asked.

"No, I'm not in the mood." She slid into the passenger seat, glancing at the dashboard clock. _4:30? It feels so much later than that._

"Now what?" she asked aloud, leaning her head back against the head rest. Outside her window, the sky was clouding up, the mild blue of that morning disappearing into what looked like more impending snow.

"Let's go bowling," Joe suggested.

"Bowling?" Nancy echoed unenthusiastically.

"Okay, what about ice skating?"

"We're not really dressed for it."

"So? Come on, Nan. Get out of your head and have some fun."

"If you want action, what we should really do is go take down our art exhibition," Nancy told him.

"But that's not fun."

Nancy sighed. "Okay, let's go skating. Do you think they'll even be open today?"

"Can't hurt to check," Joe said happily.

By the time they'd arrived at the skating rink and rented skates, Nancy had to admit she was feeling much livelier. The rink was surprisingly crowded for the day before Thanksgiving. Groups of teenagers flashed past, girls chatting, boys showing off. Parents inched along, holding the hands of wobbly children or calling out warnings to their more confident offspring. Nancy grabbed Joe's hand as they glided out onto the ice.

"Okay, I'll say it. You were right," she said.

"Told you so," Joe teased.

Nancy squeezed his hand. "You can go, if you'd rather go faster. I'm not feeling very ambitious right now." She was content to glide along at a moderate pace, enjoying the exertion and the crowd and the music and Joe's hand in hers. She was pleased when he squeezed back and shook his head.

"I like this," he said simply.

They skated along in happy silence for a few minutes. Then Nancy remembered something that had slipped to the back of her mind.

"Hey, Joe? I almost forgot. What did you give Frank, before they left?"

Joe's face lit up. He was clearly very pleased with himself. "Just a little something to make their night more interesting," he said.

Nancy groaned. "Please tell me you didn't get them a sex toy." Her voice was pitched low, but a passing teen still gave her a wide-eyed look of surprise.

Joe looked indignant. "Give me a little credit, Nan. I'm not vulgar."

"What was it, then?"

"A pocket edition of the Kama Sutra."

"Are you serious? How is that any less vulgar than- "

"It's a classic!" Joe said, his face completely serious.

"Well, that certainly explains the blush!" Nancy said. "And now I'm even happier that they're not staying at the apartment tonight."

"You and me both," Joe said fervently.

"Can you believe they're really married?"

"I think it's finally starting to hit me," Joe admitted.

"I hadn't expected it to feel so...so important," Nancy said slowly. "I thought it would just be a legal thing, and their June wedding would feel like the real thing. But that was the nicest wedding I've ever been to."

"I won't tell Bess or Helen you said that," Joe said.

Nancy didn't rise to his teasing. "You know what I mean! I'm not saying what Bess and Helen have with their husbands isn't the real thing. It's just, the way Frank and Callie look at each other..." Nancy let her words trail off. "They make me want to believe in soulmates," she said finally.

Joe had turned around to skate backwards, a few minutes into their conversation. Now he did another neat turn and resumed his place beside her, reaching for her hand. "I do," he said casually.

"You do what?"

"Believe in soulmates."

Nancy glanced over at him, wondering if he was laying the groundwork for some kind of joke about his brother; but his face was serious.

"You probably remember how jealous I was when Frank and Callie first got together," he said.

"Yeah, I seem to recall a little more acting out than usual around that time."

"He's my brother," Joe said, shrugging. "More than that. He's my best friend. He's the guy I've literally trusted with my life a thousand times. And you know how high school relationships are. Half the time those girls drag the boy around like some kind of accessory."

Nancy nodded. "I know what you mean. They're always so possessive."

"It was never like that with them. They just..." he looked frustrated, trying to put the thought into words. "I know Frank," he said finally. "Something changed in him when they started dating. Maybe it's just Frank, maybe he's just a one-woman kind of guy, but I've always believed they were soulmates."

"So you believe it for them, not in general," Nancy said, not sure why she was pushing the point. She tried to sound careless, though she knew Joe could take one look at her face and read the depth of her investment there.

"Do we need to live up to them?" Joe said quietly.

"That isn't what I meant."

"Frank is deeper than I am, Nan. He doesn't run his mouth over every stray thought in his mind. He thinks and weighs every nuance before he acts."

"So you're saying Frank is more capable of that kind of connection?"

Joe shrugged. Nancy shook her head at him.

"So you wear your heart on your sleeve. That doesn't make you shallow. Your feelings are every bit as meaningful even if you do express them freely."

"Thanks, Nan."

They were quiet for a moment. Joe broke away to do some swooping figure-eights across the ice by way of venting his feelings. When he returned to her side, Nancy looked up into his face.

"I needed someone like you. Frank may keep his heart guarded, but I had mine locked up in a tower. I was cold and jaded and lonely. It took someone like you, someone impetuous and willing to take risks, to show me how rich life can be. I don't care if soulmates exist or not. All I care about is that we have something real, here, and that I love you."

Joe stopped skating. He reached for her, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist, and looked at her without saying a word. It was not quite the same look Frank had given Callie, earlier, but it was close enough. Nancy could feel it like a magnetic pull, aching and breathless and pure. She was only marginally aware of traffic flowing around them, of the music continuing to play. Joe touched her cheek, light as a sunbeam. He seemed about to say something in reply. And then, suddenly, an over-ambitious small child came spinning across the ice and crashed into Joe's legs, jostling them apart; and in the midst of regaining their balance and helping the boy to his feet and fending off his mother's apologies, the mood was broken.

-

Snow flurries had begun to fall by the time they walked out of the indoor rink, still hand-in-hand and very content. The exercise had leveled out both of their moods, lifting Nancy's spirits and calming Joe's.

"Dinner?" Nancy suggested, picking up her pace as an icy wind whipped her skirt around her legs.

"I hate to bring it up," Joe said, "but you were probably right about the gallery. If you're not starving, maybe we can get a little work done there first."

"Oh, now he wants to be responsible," Nancy teased.

"We can get dinner first," Joe said.

Nancy shook her head. "Let's get it over with."

"Who's driving?"

Nancy's phone began ringing. "That answers that," she said, tossing him the keys again. "Nancy Drew speaking."

"Nancy, hi. It's Nova."

"Hi! What's up?" she asked, mouthing _Nova_ to Joe. "Joe says hi."

"I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?"

"I wouldn't have answered the phone if I were busy," Nancy assured her. "So what's going on? Is something wrong?"

"Do people only call you when things are falling apart?"

"Mostly, yeah," Nancy admitted.

Nova's smile radiated through the connection, somehow. "I probably shoulda just shot you a text. This isn't, like, super-urgent, but I was wondering what happened after y'all left the Moonlight the other night."

"That's a long story," Nancy said. "Are you free right now?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Because we're on our way to the art gallery on Creek Street in River Heights. I'll tell you the whole thing in person if you meet us over there."

"Ooh. A mysterious summons!"

"Accept it...if you dare!" Nancy said dramatically.

Nova laughed. "Girl, you know I can't pass that up. I'll be there."

Somehow, Nova was already at the gallery when they arrived. She was waiting by the front door, bouncing in place a little to keep warm.

"How did she get here so fast?" Nancy exclaimed.

"Let's go find out. Maybe she knows a secret shortcut." Despite his suggestion, Joe hesitated. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said, looking at him curiously.

"Just checking. Last time we were here, things didn't go so well."

Nancy shook her head. "Unless I've drastically misjudged Nova, nothing bad is going to happen this time. What about you? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He leaned in and kissed her, lightly; and then he was out of the car and jogging across the lot to unlock the gallery door.

"We're not worth getting frostbite for!" he yelled to Nova. "You should have stayed in your car."

"I got bored," Nova said, following him into the building. Her cheeks were pink with the cold and there was a halo of snowflakes in her curly hair, but she seemed to be in good spirits. She rubbed her hands together briskly to warm them before reaching out to give Nancy a hug.

"Hi, Nancy. Thanks for letting me interrupt your day."

"Oh, you're not interrupting. I have every intention of putting you to work," Nancy said cheerfully.

Nova lapsed into one of her impersonations. "As long as you spill the beans while we're at it, gumshoe. I want the inside scoop."

"Every juicy detail," Nancy promised, allowing Joe to help her out of her coat. She was a little taken aback when Nova's eyebrows shot up. The waitress looked from Nancy to Joe and back again, shaking her head.

"Fred, Ginger, I'm sorry I missed the show. Golly gee, do you look swell!"

Nancy had forgotten, for a moment, how they were dressed. Now she curtsied, and Joe improvised a few steps of a tap-dance routine on his way to the storage room.

"Ginger, darling, give the lady an autographed picture," he called over his shoulder.

"Is this a disguise? Were you undercover?" Nova asked eagerly, resuming her own persona.

"No, nothing that exciting. We were at a wedding earlier, and haven't had a chance to change," Nancy explained.

"You really do look great. I hope you didn't think I was making fun of your dress. It's really cool."

"It was my grandmother's," Nancy said. "She was a big fan of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. She would have been flattered."

Nova grinned. "Glad to hear it." She stepped closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "And I never thought I'd say this about Joe Hardy, but yum!"

Nancy giggled. "Get in line, sister."

"In line for what?" Joe asked, returning with the boxes Chet and Callie had used to transport the artwork.

"Just girl talk," Nova said easily. "What can I help y'all with?"

"It's not hard. All of these paintings," Nancy said, gesturing to the walls of the gallery, "need to go into these boxes."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"That's easy enough." Nova walked over to the first wall and reached for a watercolor. "Now, tell me all about it!"

Nancy filled her in as they took down pictures and Joe packed away the electronics. Nova was a good audience, responsive and intelligent and appreciative. She had overheard enough of their conversation with Jenny to make her curious, but not enough to put together any significant pieces of the puzzle.

"It was worse than buying a mystery novel at a yard sale and finding out that the last chapter is missing," she told Nancy. "Thanks so much. Now I can stop obsessing over whodunnit and start obsessing over something else."

"Glad I could help," Nancy said merrily.

The taking down process took only a fraction of the time setting up had. Before long they were loading the paintings and camera equipment into the back of Nancy's roadster and saying goodbye to Nova.

"Give me a call sometime and we'll hang out," Nancy said, really meaning it. She had enjoyed getting to know Nova so far.

"I'll do that," Nova said. "And I already promised George I'd take one of her classes, so I'll be in the neighborhood."

"Let me know which one you pick. I might join you."

"That would be great!" Nova said. "All right. Y'all have a great Thanksgiving!"

"You, too!" Joe said, opening Nancy's car door for her.

The snow was coming down in earnest, now. After they had stopped for a quick bite to eat at a fast food place, Nancy drove them home. She drove slowly, partly due to the low visibility and the growing slickness of the roads, but also because it suited her mood. She felt pleasantly tired, with a sort of drowsy, animal sense of well-being. They met very few other cars along the way. This solitude, added to the way the headlights bounced off a wall of snowflakes just a few yards ahead of the car, imparted a pleasant feeling of isolation to the drive.

"I hope Frank and Callie didn't get caught in this weather," Nancy said idly.

"They didn't have far to go. I'm sure they were cuddling by a fireplace long before the snow started," Joe replied.

"Jealous?"

"It would be nice to have a fireplace."

Nancy nodded. "Especially the way this winter is going. I can't remember the last time we got so much snow before Thanksgiving."

As she eased the roadster into the Hardys' driveway, its headlights picked out a bulky shape on the apartment's front steps.

"What's that?" Nancy said, instantly alert.

"Did you and Callie drop something on your way out this afternoon?"

"No."

"Wait here." Like Nancy, Joe was in full-on detective mode, now. All traces of lazy contentment were gone. He switched on his keychain penlight and exited the car, sweeping the beam across the small yard and the garage.

"Joe, wait," Nancy said, jumping out after him. "What if it's an ambush? Or a bomb?"

Joe paused. "No tracks in the snow," he said.

"Maybe they've been here long enough for the snow to cover their tracks."

Joe backtracked and handed Nancy his pocketknife. "Stay here and cover me. If you see anything, scream."

"What if it's-"

"Nan. I'm not getting blown up. I promise."

Nancy's pulse jumped erratically as she watched him approach the steps. Joe knelt and examined the object. A long, tense moment later, he straightened and beckoned Nancy forward.

"It's from Kate," he said, pointing to an envelope taped to the top of the package. "I'll bring it inside so you can take a look. No use freezing out here any longer."

Inside, on the kitchen table, the box looked much less threatening. Nancy pulled the envelope off the top and opened it up to read Kate's note.

"What does she say?" Joe asked, slipping her coat off her shoulders.

"Thanks," she murmured, eyes still fixed on the card. "She says this is for solving her holes-in-the-yard mystery. Isn't that nice of her? Look, there's even a little drawing from her son."

"But what's in the box?" Joe asked.

"Hold on, my x-ray vision is a little blurry today," Nancy said sarcastically. She used her car key to slit the tape holding the box shut and peered inside, feeling Joe looking over her shoulder.

"Chocolates," he said.

"And wine," Nancy added, lifting the items out. The third item in the package made her stop, surprised.

"No way!" she exclaimed.

"What is it?" Joe asked, crowding her for a better look. When he saw the label on the small box, he burst out laughing. "Cherry Bakewells? That's awesome."

"Let's set those aside for tomorrow," Nancy said, joining in his laughter. "I can't wait to tell Hannah."

"What's the word for that? Like a coincidence, but more so," Joe said, beginning to unbutton his shirt. "It's on the tip of my tongue."

"Synchronicity?" Nancy suggested.

"Yes! Synchronicity."

"Very delicious synchronicity, in this case," Nancy said, smiling again. But she forgot her mirth when she looked at Joe. With his tie undone, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, and the ghosts of his tattoos showing through his white t-shirt and the sleeve of his tuxedo shirt, he looked deliciously disheveled in a way that seemed to beg Nancy to muss him up even more. As if of its own volition, her hand moved to rest on the wine bottle.

"I'd say today was a day worth celebrating," she said slowly.

"And we have the place to ourselves." Joe's gaze was growing more intense, now, mirroring hers. "We should take advantage of that."

"It would be a shame not to."

"I have an idea. Grab some glasses and meet me in the living room." He took the wine and the chocolates and disappeared into the living room.

Nancy took the time to kick off her shoes, which were beginning to hurt her, before grabbing a pair of wine glasses and following him. Somehow, in that little window of time, he had managed to spread a blanket on the floor, add a few pillows, and light the candles Callie kept on the coffee table.

"This looks cozy," Nancy said, dropping gracefully onto the blanket.

"Get comfortable, Nan. I need to grab the corkscrew."

He was only gone a moment. He flicked off the kitchen light and returned in the candlelight, holding the corkscrew and Nancy's phone.

"Background music?" he suggested, holding the phone out to her. "You put something on while I pour."

Nancy accepted the phone and shifted, leaning back against the pillows, as she scrolled through her playlists. Her left leg was beginning to fall asleep. Beside her, Joe frowned and fidgeted.

"Want to move to the couch?" he asked.

"Yes!" Nancy confessed.

"So much for that idea." Joe scrambled up, offering Nancy a hand, and they both settled gratefully on the couch. Joe sighed. "Damn. It always looks so romantic in movies. I wonder if our floor is just especially hard."

"You get points for effort," Nancy said consolingly. She leaned back against the arm of the couch and sipped her wine, letting that feeling of contentment wash over her once more.

"The candlelight is nice," she said.

"If you squint you can pretend it's a fire in a fireplace," Joe said, pulling her legs into his lap. The hand that was not holding his wine glass rubbed her feet and calves gently, almost absent-mindedly. Up and down, no pressure, no hurry, just warmth and affection.

"I don't need it to be anything more than candles. This is perfect," Nancy told him. And it was. The romantic lighting, the wine, the comfortable familiarity of his touch, the falling snow outside the window- it all added up to a beautiful evening.

 _This feels right,_ Nancy thought. _This feels like home._ She had not been sure of her answer, up to this point; but she knew now that if Joe asked again, she would agree to move in with him.

Joe set his wine glass aside, suddenly, and looked at her.

"I couldn't take my eyes off you today," he said, his hand coming to rest lightly on her knee. "Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?"

Nancy shook her head. "You're the gorgeous one. That tux makes me want to do very dirty things to you."

"You think you can lower 007's guard with flattery?"

"Joe, I don't want to play. I want to be us tonight. Is that okay?"

"That's more than okay," Joe said.

Nancy set her glass down and scooted closer to him, her thighs across his lap now, her hands reaching to tug his undone tie from his collar and then to cup his face. Words failed her, so she settled for brushing a light kiss to his lips. The contact made her flush more than the wine had. She did it again and this time he responded, opening to her, moving his tongue against hers with an unhurried thoroughness that only made her ache for more. Joe's hand was on her thigh, now, tracing the lacy top of her stocking, releasing the garter clips with slow and deliberate movements. Between languorous kisses they began stripping away both the day's finery and its baggage: discarding the heaviness of the marriage ceremony along with Nancy's silk stockings, the burden of familial expectations along with Joe's cuff links, the echoes of their anger at Callie's parents along with Joe's tuxedo shirt, the spectre of time's inevitable progression along with Nancy's jewelry- paring away layers of fabric and emotion, offering to one another their truest and most vulnerable selves. When Joe slid the pins out of Nancy's hair, she could feel his hands shaking; and suddenly she was closing her eyes against the look on his face, willing herself not to cry from the sheer tenderness of it all.

 _This is too much. This is going to kill me,_ she thought with sudden anguished bewilderment.

Joe's fingers were still unsteady as he traced her eyebrows, her jawline, her lips. He leaned in and kissed her again, warm and slow, unhurried, with exquisite control, as though he knew that if he sped up he would lose himself.

"I have something for you," he whispered, pressing a kiss below her ear.

Nancy's eyes fluttered open. For one terrifying, hopeful moment she thought he might be about to propose. But instead he sat back and looked at her with a gleam of playfulness returning to those blue eyes.

"Remember that sonnet I promised you?"

Nancy nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment. It was just more sonnet teasing, then. Nothing important. She curled back into him to hide the disappointment he would be sure to read in her eyes.

"Did you memorize some more Shakespeare for me? I'm not that gullible." Her words came out a little harsher than intended. She pressed her lips to his jaw, his neck, in a series of atoning kisses, and she could feel the vibrations there when he protested.

"Have a little faith in me, Nan!" There was a note of genuine hurt in his voice.

Nancy pulled back. "I'm sorry."

He shifted his weight, maneuvering a hand into his pants pocket to pull out a folded piece of paper, and pressed this paper into her hand without further explanation. She unfolded it carefully.

"An invoice for your motorcycle parts?"

"No, not that side. Turn it over," Joe said. She turned it over. And there, on the blank side, in the steady, old-fashioned handwriting which was a product of Gertrude having taught him to write, was a sonnet.

 _Moving-In Sonnet for Nancy_

 _Most men would promise you the moon above,_  
 _Contort their speech with flow'ring "thou" and "thee,"_  
 _And swear to you there's been no truer love_  
 _Than that they'll bear for all eternity._  
 _A wiser man than I would decorate_  
 _With costly gems the shrines that are your breast,_  
 _Your ears, your wrists; with gifts he'd venerate_  
 _The beauty of each place that he'd caress'd._  
 _But this is you and me. Our hearts have met._  
 _Transparent, then, I make to you my plea._  
 _I know I have domestic flaws, and yet_  
 _You could do worse than make your home with me._  
 _And now it's up to you. But I confess_  
 _My happiness depends upon your "yes."  
_

A tear dropped onto the page just below the final line before Nancy could arrest its progress.

"I'm sorry," Joe said immediately, trying to tug the paper from her hands. "It's stupid. It's too much."

"Joe, no! It's perfect!" Nancy cried hastily. Somewhere in the back of her mind Callie was whispering _He isn't as tough as he acts, Nan_ , but Nancy didn't need the reminder. She could see it in his eyes. It hurt her heart to think of him doubting himself, doubting her feelings, for even a minute.

"It's perfect," she said again, wiping her eyes. "I don't even know what to say right now. You're killing me, and I'm going to die happy, you beautiful, ridiculous, wonderful man." She was aware that she was babbling stupidly. So she stopped talking and reached for him instead, tangling her legs in her hurry to get properly into his lap, trying to kiss him and pull his t-shirt up over his head at the same time. It was clumsy and awkward and beautiful. All the control, all the patience, of earlier was gone.

Before Joe, Nancy had never let herself surrender so completely. Now she gave herself with joyful, eager transparency, secure in the knowledge that he was every bit as abandoned as she was.

Afterward, Joe snagged the blanket off the floor and pulled it over them. There was no need to keep one eye on the door or to retreat to the privacy of his bedroom, so they stayed right where they were, feeding each other chocolates and drinking the wine straight from the bottle and watching a movie long into the night. And somehow, in their happiness, they forgot that Nancy had never outright answered his question.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Thanksgiving, Hardy Edition

It had been years since Nancy's internal clock had been programmed to recognize weekends or holidays. Years of irregular working hours took their toll on a person. The sun was barely over the horizon Thanksgiving morning when she slipped out of bed, ready to brew a pot of coffee and savor this rare moment of stillness.

She had forgotten, however, the rather Old Mother Hubbard state of the kitchen.

"Damn," she said softly, opening and closing one empty cabinet after another as though looking could make something edible appear. Unsurprisingly, this tactic did not work. Her search turned up only a box of baking soda, some stale cereal, and one bruised apple.

 _I can only imagine what Hannah would say about this,_ Nancy thought ruefully, closing the refrigerator door. The housekeeper would be appalled at the young people's lack of attention to domestic necessities. Nancy's stomach rumbled as if in agreement with Hannah's sentiments. But Nancy, who had never been one to dwell on things she could not change, shrugged it off and headed for Frank's room.

 _Breakfast may be off the table,_ she thought, groaning internally at her own pun, _but I can at least clean up our chaos from yesterday._

As an investigator, Nancy was accustomed to intruding into the spaces and belongings of others; but it still felt terribly personal to be here, surrounded by so many details of Frank's and Callie's personalities and daily routines. The clothes Callie had worn to breakfast yesterday still lay across the foot of the bed, which was itself in a rumpled state which bore witness to its owner's unusually distracted state of mind. Nancy hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to fold Callie's clothes and make the bed. Frank and Callie would be home tonight, and she wanted them to come back to a peaceful and welcoming room.

Frank's bathroom was just as jumbled as she had remembered. Nancy retrieved her crumpled tote bag from the floor and got to work, methodically stowing Callie's supplies away and tossing her own things into her bag, focusing on the task rather than on the oddness of being in that room without Frank or Callie.

Her phone buzzing in her pocket provided a timely distraction. She answered it, tucking the device between her ear and shoulder to keep her hands free. "Hi, Bess!"

"Did I wake you up?" Bess blurted.

"No," Nancy said, a bit taken aback. "I've been up for a little while."

"Oh. Why? What are you doing?"

Was it her imagination, or did Bess sound disappointed? "Nothing much," Nancy said, biting her tongue on the words "cleaning up our wedding prep mess." The marriage was not public knowledge just yet, and it was not her story to tell. She changed the subject. "Were you hoping to wake me up?"

"Sort of. I was going to tell you that you deserved it after bugging me on my vacation."

"Spiteful!" Nancy told her friend, putting away the nail polish she had borrowed from Callie. "What are you doing up, anyway? Isn't it still the middle of the night on Hawaii time?"

Bess groaned. "Yes, but try explaining that to Myra. She woke us up half an hour ago."

"She must be so excited that you're back."

"Actually, she side-eyed me and told me I could go back to Hawaii, she wasn't done playing with Aunt George. Can you believe it?"

Nancy laughed. "I bet Aunt George was thrilled about that."

"Oh, please. George had fun. I can tell." Bess changed topics suddenly. "Did you have breakfast yet?"

"No. We slacked off on our shopping this week."

"Okay, good. I'm dying to talk to you, and I'm cooking. Come over," Bess commanded. "Bring your man if he's up. I want him to shovel our walk."

"Can't Tom do that?"

"I need him to stay inside and keep me warm."

It was Nancy's turn to groan. "I'm not coming over if you two are going to be gross. Didn't you get that out of your system on vacation?"

"Yes, but we didn't know we'd be coming home to snow," Bess said, making it sound like a dirty word.

"It's not that bad, Bessie."

"Whatever. Get over here and let me feed you." And with that, Bess hung up.

Nancy returned to Joe's bathroom for a quick shower. When she stepped back into the bedroom he stirred a little, stretching.

"Good morning," Nancy said, dropping a kiss into his tousled hair on her way to the closet and side-stepping his playful tug on her towel. "Up and at 'em, sunshine. Bess just invited us over for breakfast."

To her surprise, Joe shook his head. "Tell her I appreciate the offer, but no thanks."

"Are you feeling all right?" Nancy asked.

"Never better."

"You know we have nothing to eat here, right?"

He nodded. "That's all right. We're getting two Thanksgiving meals today. I figured I'd use the morning to get some work done."

"The motorcycle?" Nancy guessed, pulling a lacy green top over her head.

"Yeah, and I've got to put in some work on that paper I have due next week, and maybe I'll squeeze in a quick workout." Joe rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

"Ambitious," Nancy commented vaguely, watching him go. She could not decide which was more attractive, his physique or the confidence evident in every move he made.

 _Drew, pay attention!_ She gave herself a little shake and snapped her attention back to getting dressed. She pulled on her skirt and tights, retrieved her mother's claddagh ring from Joe's dresser, slipped earrings into her ears. When Joe came out to get dressed she went back into the bathroom to do her makeup.

"Will you come back here after breakfast, or should we just meet at my parents' place?" Joe called, slamming a dresser drawer.

"You know Bess. She's going to want to go over every detail of the past week from each of our perspectives."

"So we'll meet at my parents'," Joe said. She could hear the smile in his voice.

"And go straight from there to Dad's, probably, so you should bring a change of clothes," Nancy reminded him, reaching for her mascara.

Joe's head popped around the door frame. "Right," he said, his brow furrowed. "About that. The dress code is 'Disco Fever,' right?"

Nancy laughed. "You know us so well."

Joe stepped forward so he could lean against the door frame, crossing his arms across his bare chest. "Seriously, though. I've never been to a Drew family Thanksgiving. Are we talking black tie? Business casual? Cocktail attire?"

"Nothing that elaborate!" Nancy assured him. "Dad wears a regular suit. I'll change into a nice dress when we get there."

"Why would anyone choose to wear restrictive clothing today, of all days? I don't know about you, but I'm planning to eat my weight in pumpkin pie. So why the formality?"

Nancy could understand his confusion. She knew that the Hardys' family events were laid-back affairs, prioritizing family and conviviality over elegance. Her father, on the other hand, had always derived pleasure from a more genteel type of celebration.

"It's...it's actually really nice," she said, wishing she could explain it better. "We still have fun. Dad and Aunt Eloise just like to do things in style. I don't mean that your family doesn't- "

"Nan," he said, interrupting her. "I think I get it."

"Good, because I'm not sure where I was planning to go with that sentence."

Joe had wandered off to finish dressing. Nancy zipped her cosmetics bag shut with an air of finality, giving herself one last inspection in the mirror and wondering if she should pull her hair up.

"You look fine," Joe said, poking his head in again to look at her. Nancy turned away from the mirror and went to him, reaching out for a hug. Joe twisted away.

"Better not," he advised, gesturing to his grease-stained jeans and hoodie. He had pulled on work clothes, anticipating his time in the garage with his motorcycle. Nancy rested a hand lightly in the center of his chest and popped up on tiptoes to kiss him lightly.

"Have fun. Don't eat all the leftover wedding cake without me."

"And you said we had nothing for breakfast!" Joe joked.

"Seriously. Eat the cake and there will be unpleasant consequences," Nancy said, waving a finger at him sternly.

"Yes, ma'am," Joe said. He kissed her again. "Drive safe. I'll see you soon."

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Despite Bess's moaning about the weather, it was nice to be out in the snow-crisp world. The sun was shining again, dazzling on the snow. Nancy pulled her sunglasses out of the glove compartment and slid them on. It was very early in the season for snow cover, but she would happily take this over the mopey, incessant rain of last week.

At Bess and Tom's place, George's Jeep was parked out front. Nancy eased her roadster in beside it and let herself into the house, following the sound of voices to the kitchen. She paused in the doorway, drinking in the cheerful scene. George was leaning against the counter, talking animatedly with Tom about the stunts in a recent action movie. Myra was playing under the table. And Bess was presiding over the stove, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink and her blonde curls tousled artistically. Nancy was struck, again, by how well pregnancy suited Bess. She looked tan and relaxed and beautiful.

George looked over, suddenly, as though she felt the weight of Nancy's gaze. Her suspicious expression softened into a smile. "Nance, hi!"

"Hi!" Nancy said, stepping forward. "Welcome home, you guys."

"Thanks!" Bess called, waving a spatula. "No Joe?"

"No, he wanted some downtime."

"Nancy! Nan-Nan-Nan-Nan!" Myra shrieked, running to her. The little girl had a large seashell clasped in each small hand. "Look!" she said, waving her treasures.

Nancy knelt to examine them. "How beautiful!" she said with genuine admiration.

"They're from Ha-why," Myra explained, her brow furrowed as she carefully pronounced the new word. Then she relaxed and pushed one shell up against Nancy's ear. "There's no crab in there. You can listen."

"Is that the ocean?" Nancy asked.

Myra nodded. "But the waves won't come out into your ear. Don't worry."

"That's a relief."

"She hasn't put those down since we gave them to her," Tom said, handing Nancy a large mug of coffee made just the way she liked it. He looked just as tan and relaxed as Bess did, if a little tired. "There are muffins on the table, and eggs and bacon coming up."

"Thanks, Tom. Happy Thanksgiving!" Nancy said, taking a grateful sip. "George, I'm surprised to see you here."

"I'm here in a non-supervisory capacity," George said, grabbing a muffin.

"Coffee, George?" Tom asked.

"Is it that hazelnut shit?"

"Yeah, sorry. Too girly for you, Fayne?" Tom teased. He handed her a mug. "Here you go. Black as your heart and just as hazelnutty."

"I...I'm not quite sure how to take that," George replied, shaking her head at him.

Bess, meanwhile, had turned to give Nancy a thorough once-over. "Looking good, chica! But aren't you a little casual for Thanksgiving?" Bess pressed a hand dramatically to her heart. "Don't tell me you're finally entering your rebellious phase."

"That's casual?" George scoffed, glancing from Nancy's skirt to her own jeans and battered Converse sneakers.

"No, I'm going to change later. We're going to the Hardys' first." Nancy did not miss the knowing look Bess and George exchanged. "What?" she demanded.

" _We're_ going to the Hardys'," Bess echoed sweetly. " _We_ go everywhere together. _We_ are in love. Yeah, Drew, George told on you. You've got some details to divulge, darlin'."

"George is thinking of breaking up with Regan!" Nancy said quickly.

"Real nice. Why throw me under the bus?" George protested.

Bess was not falling for it. "That's old news, babe. Spill."

Nancy had one last card up her sleeve. "But I was hoping you'd tell me more about what happened when you posed as buyers for that painting."

Tom, who had been making up a breakfast plate for Myra, looked up. "It was awesome!" he said enthusiastically.

"My husband thinks he wants to fight crime now," Bess said, taking a seat at the table. The other girls followed suit.

"Not as a detective, though. I'm thinking more of a vigilante-type superhero," Tom told Nancy. "Pending really cool costume design, of course."

"And, you know, superpowers," George added.

Tom waved a hand dismissively. "Doesn't being devastatingly handsome count?"

"It does in my book," Bess cooed, leaning over to give him a kiss.

"I told her I wouldn't come if they were going to be like that," Nancy said to George, who promptly reached over and gave her cousin a light tug on the ear.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Making me lose my appetite," George said.

"Grow up," Bess retorted.

Nancy had known Bess and George long enough to see when there were storm clouds gathering. She quickly interrupted. "So, aside from the criminal element, how amazing was Hawaii?"

"It was perfect!" Bess said. "The beaches, the scenery, the history...but wait, Nan, we were talking about the painting. No, we were talking about you and Joe. I don't even know where to start!"

"Start with the painting," George advised.

"It was a breeze," Bess said, trying to sound offhand.

"I've heard so many stories about the mysteries you girls solved together," Tom said. "But what a rush! Nance, if you ever need any help in the future, I'm your man."

"Be careful what you wish for," Nancy warned. "I'm sure George filled you in on how things went for me and Joe."

"You mean how I saved your butts? Yeah, I may have mentioned that," George said.

"George said 'butt!' " Myra sing-songed.

"Always with the censorship, kid," George grumbled affectionately. "I'm sorry. I meant I saved their pretty faces."

"But that doesn't happen every time, right?" Tom argued.

Bess shuddered and reached for a second muffin. "Even once is too much."

"It doesn't happen every time," Nancy said, "but it's always a risk. Well, almost always."

"Depends on the case," George said.

"The important thing is that it's all wrapped up, thanks in no small part to our sweet acting skills," Bess said. "Myra, don't tip your juice."

"It's all gone!" Myra said, holding out her cup.

"On it," Tom said, taking the cup for a refill.

Nancy turned back to Bess. "Tell us about Hawaii. Did you lie on the beach the entire time?"

"Mostly, yeah," Tom said.

"It would have been a sin to do anything else, with a beach that gorgeous right outside the hotel," Bess said. "We did a couple day trip type tours, and Tom took surfing lessons. But mostly we just sunbathed, and ate at the most delicious little local restaurant..."

Tom groaned. "Don't bring it up. I'll be on the next flight back there just to get dinner one more time."

"Can I come, Daddy?" Myra piped up.

"Sure, Sugar. We'll take you next time and you can come snorkeling with me," Tom said.

Everyone was finished eating by then. Tom began cleaning Myra up and George started clearing the table. When Nancy moved to help her, Bess grabbed her wrist.

"Sit," she said. "You're not off the hook. Tell me about you and Joe. And I mean everything."

" 'Everything' is not suitable for little ears," Nancy said dryly, glancing at Myra.

"Spell it out if you need to."

Nancy took a sip of her coffee, dawdling on purpose to annoy her friend. "I think I'm moving in with him," she said finally.

As she had expected, Bess practically levitated out of her chair. "What do you mean, you think?!"

George looked interested, too. "Whoa. I haven't heard this part."

"Has he asked you yet?" Bess demanded.

Nancy nodded. "But I just realized that I never actually answered the question."

"Okay, I'm assuming that's the part that isn't PG," George said.

"Nance, you dirty girl!" Bess teased.

"Let's talk some more about Hawaii," Nancy said, blushing.

Bess leaned in. "When did he ask? Was it really romantic?"

"It was the second time. He wrote me a sonnet," Nancy said, smiling at the memory of those words. "The first time he just sort of asked as we were rushing out to do some work on the case."

Tom let out a whistle. "Way to set the bar high, Hardy."

"Typical Joe," Bess said. "But let me just say, a sonnet? Wow! No wonder you didn't get an answer out. When are you going to move in? And when are you going to tell your dad? Do you think he's going to be upset?"

"Not really, because he's getting re-married soon- "

Bess levitated again. "He's what?"

"He proposed to Camille."

Bess threw her hands in the air. "Okay, maybe that vacation wasn't worth it after all. You go away for one week and everything changes!"

"Girl, if you can't keep tabs on the social situation here from a few measly time zones away, maybe you're losing your edge," George teased. Bess made a face at her.

"Very funny." She looked to Nancy again, growing serious. "I'm happy for you, babe."

"You don't think it's too soon?" Nancy asked.

"No," Bess said.

"Maybe," George said, at the same time.

"No," Bess said, more firmly. "Look, you've seen them together. You know that thing Joe does with his eyes? When he looks at you and makes you feel like you're the only girl in the world?"

"Hey!" Tom protested good-naturedly. "I'm still here, you know."

"Trust me, handsome, I know," Bess said, giving him a flirtatious wink. "It's not real, is what I mean. It's something he picked up over the years to help get information out of suspects, or to pick up girls in bars, or whatever."

"That's a little cynical," George remarked.

"Who's the flirting expert here?" Bess pointed out. "I know artistry when I see it."

"I know what you mean," Nancy said, wondering where Bess was going with this. It was true, Joe had a combination of innate charm and practiced body language that he could use to draw people in if he wanted. But she did not see how that had anything to do with their relationship.

"He doesn't turn that on for you. I see him look at you, and it's deeper than that. You're a lucky girl, Nance."

"Still here," Tom said.

"Hush," Bess scolded. "I married you, remember?"

George had re-joined them at the table, now, with a fresh cup of coffee. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but can we talk about Regan? I want some perspective."

Bess was only too happy to oblige. The rest of the morning flew by, partly spent dissecting George's romantic situation and partly playing with Myra. After what felt like only a few minutes, Nancy glanced at the clock and realized she had better head over to the Hardy home.

"Ready to brave the dragon?" George joked as Nancy buttoned her coat.

"Tell me you're not talking about Laura. She's the sweetest woman," Bess said.

"She's talking about Aunt Gertrude," Nancy told her friend. "She's been a little difficult lately. But actually, last time I saw her she barely insulted me, so here's hoping for another day with no drama." She held up her hand, fingers crossed. George was laughing, and even Bess looked amused.

"Sorry, Nan. I hope she doesn't call you a slut today," George chuckled.

Nancy rolled her eyes. "Happy Thanksgiving, you guys. Say hi to the family for me."

"Happy Thanksgiving!" her friends chorused, and Myra hugged her exuberantly around the knees.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Nancy had been expecting a bit of a crowd at the Hardys'. She knew that Laura Hardy always gathered as many lonely chicks as she could under her wings at holiday time. What she had not expected, however, was to arrive to a yard full of running, dodging people. For just a second her instincts told her to get down, to get out of the area; but a moment later her rational mind caught up and she realized that it was a playful scene rather than a panicked one. Nancy relaxed and grabbed her purse, ready to get inside.

A snowball exploded onto the side of her roadster, missing her by mere inches, as soon as she opened the door.

"Noncombatant! Hold your fire!" she yelled, crouching behind the door to scope out the situation again. Judging by the snow shovels parked in a drift next to the driveway, the men had originally come outside to work up an appetite by shoveling snow. But nobody was shoveling now. Joe was on the roof of the garage, raining snowballs down on anyone who came within range. Fenton had taken cover behind a wheelbarrow, which he was using to store a stockpile of ammunition. The normally stately Chief Ezra Collig was running across the lawn in pursuit of Sam Radley, who was firing snowballs back at the older man as he ran. And the pilot, Jack Wayne, was lurking behind Laura's rose bushes.

Nancy calculated the odds, accepted that they were against her, and came out fighting. She got in a few good shots, picking her targets at random. It seemed to be a free-for-all, anyway, with no clear teams.

After a few minutes Joe clambered down from the roof and ran across the lawn to intercept her, empty hands raised high. "Truce?"

She dropped her snowball and stepped to him. When he kissed her, his lips were cold. She smiled against his skin. He smelled like fresh, cold air, wood smoke, and aftershave. His eyes were sparkling.

"Happy Thanksgiving," he said happily. And that was as far as he got, because just then Jack and Sam pelted them with a barrage of snowballs, and they sprang apart.

Nancy took advantage of the ensuing chase scene to slip inside, brushing snow off her coat and skirt and stomping it off her boots on the porch. She heard footsteps behind her and whipped around.

"Don't worry, Miss Drew, I'm exiting the lists as well," Chief Collig rumbled in a friendly way. He reached past her and opened the door, half-bowing and gesturing for her to go ahead. Warmth and delicious holiday smells rushed to greet them. Nancy slipped her boots and coat off and followed Chief Collig along to the kitchen.

"Laura, it smells like Paradise in here," he said.

"Thanks, Ezra. Nancy! Happy Thanksgiving!" Laura bustled over to hug her but jumped a little at her touch. "Your hands are like ice, sweetie. Don't tell me you let those hooligans rope you into their little game."

"I got ambushed," Nancy said merrily.

"You didn't have to join in," Laura scolded. "Sit down, have some coffee, warm yourself up."

"Can I help you with anything?" Nancy offered, accepting the coffee and waving hello to Ethel Radley and Aunt Gertrude. A flash of movement outside the kitchen window caught her eye: Sam and Fenton were chasing Joe, who swung himself easily up into a tree. Fenton started right up after him. Nancy giggled and Laura followed her gaze, shaking her head at her husband's antics.

"He's still a big kid," she told Nancy. "Ezra, what do you think you're doing?"

"Earning my keep," Chief Collig said, going on stolidly mashing the potatoes. "I'm not completely helpless in the kitchen, Laura."

Laura did not argue. "In that case, I'll finish up the cranberry sauce, and Nancy, you can help Ethel put together the pies. Gertrude, have you seen my good ladle?"

Though more sedate than the riotous play going on outside, the work of meal preparation was no less joy-filled. Nancy took her place beside Ethel, smiling at her. She did not know Ethel well, but she had always liked Sam's pretty, fun-loving wife. Ethel, who was covering the pies with intricate lattice-work top crusts, made room for Nancy to assist her.

Nancy was still a bit nervous around Gertrude, with the kind of constant wariness one feels when there is a bee in the room. But she soon pushed that to the back of her mind and lost herself in the work and the happy chatter of her fellow-laborers.

And then, suddenly, there were happy voices at the door and everyone came in at once, a happy tide of well-wishers with Callie and Frank at their head.

"We found a few more strays for you to feed, Mom," Joe cried, steering Frank into the kitchen. He had an arm slung around his brother's shoulders. Callie came right behind on Fenton's arm.

"If anyone looks like a stray it's you, not me," Frank retorted. It was true. Frank was dressed nicely, in khakis and a button-down shirt, whereas Joe was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

"Boys," Fenton said, with mild rebuke.

For several minutes the kitchen was a terrible jumble. People were embracing and calling out their congratulations; Callie's big brown eyes were sparkling; and Frank was referring to her as "my wife" as often as possible and beaming like a lighthouse; and Joe was stealing bites of pie filling and making ribald remarks to see Callie turn pink. At length Gertrude, having had enough of the chaos, ordered everyone to calm down.

"Get this circus under control, or it won't be my fault if the gravy turns out lumpy!" she cried over the din.

"Auntie, you're not capable of producing lumpy gravy," Joe said fondly.

Gertrude just said "Hmph." But she looked pleased.

Laura closed the oven door and straightened up, wiping her hands on her apron. "I'm so glad you're here. I hope you didn't have any trouble on the roads."

Frank and Callie looked at each other and laughed.

"We were doing all right at first," Frank said. He was standing against the kitchen counter, his left hand draped over Callie's shoulder. Callie was leaning back against his broad chest, lightly holding his hand and toying with the new ring it wore. Everything about their posture spoke of mutual comfort and contentment.

"At first?" Joe echoed.

"What happened?" Fenton asked.

Laura gasped. "Don't tell us you were in an accident."

"No," Callie said quickly. "But someone else had slid off the road, so we stopped to help."

"Frank!" Gertrude exclaimed. "Don't you know that's how crazy people lure in their victims? You, of all people, should be aware of these things!"

"It wasn't a crazy person, Aunt Gert. It was a mother with a couple of kids in the backseat. Her tires were bald," he added, before Joe could ask. "She was taking it easy, but she still spun out on a curve. No one was hurt."

"Oh, good," Ethel murmured.

"What did you do?" Laura asked.

"We tried to call for help, but there was no cell reception, so I decided to drive up the road a bit and try calling from there," Frank said. "And that's when we realized that we were stuck too."

Joe groaned. "We've been saying for ages that we need to add sand to our emergency kits."

"Don't get him started!" Callie begged. "He's been grumbling about traction and being prepared all day."

But Frank was already started discussing the pros and cons of sand and cat litter, obviously angry with himself for not having foreseen the need for traction.

"So how'd you get out?" Sam asked finally.

"We all got in our car, because it had more gas, and we ran the heater intermittently and entertained the kids for a few hours until someone with a truck happened by," Callie said. "We had a warm blanket and some snacks."

"Yeah, the emergency kit wasn't completely useless." Frank was obviously still annoyed.

"I bet you were so relieved to get to the bed and breakfast and get some rest," Laura said sympathetically. "Some honeymoon that turned out to be!"

Callie and Frank just looked at each other again.

"I know that look," Joe grumbled. "That's your inside joke look. Care to share with the rest of the class?"

"Who gets to tell this part?" Callie asked.

"Go ahead," Frank told her.

"Really?" Callie said gleefully. "Okay, then. Here's the short version: when we got to our room, there was a cow in it."

A general chorus of disbelief erupted.

"A what?" Laura demanded.

"A cow!" Callie repeated, giggling. "A full-grown Holstein cow."

"And it was eating hay off the pillow," Frank added through his own laughter.

They let people laugh and exclaim for a bit, partly because they were enjoying the reaction and partly because they were both laughing too hard to speak. When they finally regained their composure, they explained that the proprietors' son, who was home on break from college, had misread the guest log and thought that his aunt and uncle were staying in that room. He had brought the cow in through the French windows as a joke and then gone out to meet some friends for drinks.

"That is no way to operate a business," Gertrude sniffed.

"We were pretty angry at first," Frank confessed. "By the time they got the cow out of the house and opened up a new room for us, it was late, and we were too tired to see the humor."

"They were so nice, though," Callie chimed in. "They made us dinner and gave us a partial refund for the inconvenience. And the room was lovely. We're thinking of going back for a weekend in the spring."

"Just make sure you reserve a room in the non-cud-chewing wing next time," Fenton advised mirthfully, prompting another wave of laughter.

"Well," Laura said finally, "I'm sorry you didn't have a more restful time, but that's a wonderful addition to the family lore. You'll be telling that one to your grandkids." She glanced at Gertrude, who was still working on the meal and beginning to look impatient.

"I think everyone had better clear out so Gertrude and I can put the finishing touches on the meal," she said lightly. "Everything should be ready in a few minutes. Joseph, Samuel, if I see either of you put your fingers in another dish I'm going to revoke your dessert privileges!"

Everyone dispersed into the living room, where there was a fire burning in the fireplace and a stack of records waiting beside the record player. Jack and Sam made a beeline for the albums and began flipping through for something to put on, arguing in a friendly manner over the merits of various artists.

Nancy came up beside Joe, twining her arm through his. "Hi."

"Hi." He smiled down at her. "Having fun?"

"Yes. I'm surprised Chet isn't here, though." The Morton family, which had never been one for extravagant festivities, had just about given up celebrating holidays after Iola's death. Chet invariably showed up at the Hardy home for his fill of family togetherness and apple pie.

"He'll show up," Joe said offhandedly. "Is everything going all right?"

He was asking about Gertrude, she realized. She nodded. "Not one rude word. And she was pretty tame yesterday, too. Has she seen a doctor already, or is she just building up for another outbreak?"  
"I'm not sure. I'll go ask Mom about it." Joe slipped off toward the kitchen and Nancy moved further into the living room, looking for Callie.

For once, her friend was not the center of attention. Callie was sitting in Frank's lap in one of the armchairs near the fireplace. She was wearing a thick, drapey fair isle sweater over her favorite skinny jeans, and she looked radiant. Nancy told her so.

"I don't know if it's the wedding or the baby, but you're actually glowing."

Frank batted his eyelashes at her. "Thanks. I do feel pretty today."

"I meant your wife," Nancy said, rolling her eyes at him. "Are you guys getting excited about your OB/GYN appointment? It's next week, right?"

"Excited, nervous, impatient..." Callie said, and Frank nodded.

"That covers it."

Joe knelt next to Nancy's chair just then, gesturing for Callie and Frank to lean in.

"I talked to Mom," he said quietly.

"About...?" Frank asked, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

"Aunt Gert."

"What's going on?" Callie asked, her tone hushed and filled with concern.

"She did see her doctor. Everything's straightened out."

Frank frowned. "How?"

"It wasn't what we were all thinking," Joe said. There was no need for him to go down the list. They knew they had all been thinking along the same lines: Alzheimer's, or dementia, or even a tumor. The relief in Joe's voice piqued Nancy's curiosity.

"What, then?" she asked quietly.

"It was an interaction between her blood pressure meds and a new anti-anxiety pill her old doctor had started her on. They changed her prescription, and she's back to her old self."

"Just like that?" Frank still looked skeptical.

Joe nodded. "Mom said there should be no permanent damage. We caught it pretty quickly."

"That's wonderful news," Callie said warmly.

It was not much longer before Laura was calling them all to the table, where they all managed to fit themselves in amidst a great deal of laughter and jovial re-arranging. Joe had to go out to the garage and fetch an extra folding chair for himself.

"It's a good thing Chet isn't here yet," he said, wedging the chair in between Nancy and Ethel and climbing over the back to take his seat. "Should I text him and tell him to bring his own chair?"

"Just think, next year we'll be making room for a high chair!" Laura said with satisfaction. Nancy saw Callie touch her belly, eyes full of wonder. It was a strange and wonderful idea: by next Thanksgiving, this person they were barely aware of right now was going to be a separate individual with a name and a personality.

Fenton began to carve the turkey. As he worked, he spoke. "I'd like to take a moment to express my intense gratitude for this meal and for the faces I see gathered around the table," he said. "This has been the greatest year of my life."

"You say that every year, Dad," Joe said.

"It's true every year," Fenton told him. "I won't make you go around the table and tell us all what you're thankful for. But I think we each have an answer to that question right there in our hearts or on the tip of our tongue. So let's take a moment to reflect on that."

Everyone was quiet for a moment.

 _I'm thankful for mysteries solved and mysteries to come_ , Nancy thought. _I'm thankful for Joe. I'm thankful for this family_. She felt no trace, today, of the slight outside-looking-in feeling she had struggled with after the wedding yesterday. She belonged, without question.

After a moment, the platters of food began their rounds and conversation began to flow. Nancy couldn't help laughing as she passed along one platter, which was piled high with pancakes.

"Cal, I think these are for you!"

Callie laughed, too. "Mrs. Hardy, you're the best." She helped herself to the pancakes, but Nancy noticed that there were a few other items on her plate as well.

Any lingering thoughts Nancy might have entertained about being on her best behavior had evaporated in that initial barrage of snowballs. The atmosphere around the table was as informal as Joe had promised, hectic and noisy and joyful. And Joe had been right about Aunt Gertrude. She was her old self: acerbic but no longer cruel, peppery but lucid. Nancy found herself completely relaxed and enjoying the meal.

Chet arrived in time to fetch another folding chair and balance his plate on a few inches of un-occupied table space. He had a hollow-eyed, haunted look which dissipated as quickly as Laura could sooth it away with good food and unconditional welcome. For her part, Laura looked completely satisfied once he had arrived. It was obvious that in her mind, the family circle was now complete.

 _This is perfect,_ Nancy thought, looking around the room once more.

Beside her, Joe reached for her hand and cocked his head ever-so-slightly. Nancy nodded, assuring him that she was all right.

"Thank you for inviting me," she said softly.

"It wouldn't be the same without you," Joe murmured back. "Now, I think it's time for pie!"


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Thanksgiving, Drew Edition

The sun was beginning to set as Nancy parked her roadster in the Drews' driveway, between Camille's car and an unfamiliar Prius. Joe was following behind in his truck- they had thought it best to drive separate vehicles, since they did not know what their plans would be after dinner- and he had caught a red light after she had already passed through. While she waited for him to catch up, she studied the pristine layer of snow blanketing the front yard. There were no footprints, no furrows made by scooping hands, no craters where people had fallen; and somehow the unmarred snow seemed symbolic to Nancy. Her family was reserved and formal; how could Joe enjoy spending part of his holiday here, especially after the boisterous fun of the Hardy gathering?

Joe's truck bounced up the driveway, wrenching her attention back to the present. Nancy stepped out of her car and walked back to greet him as he jumped lightly down from the cab.

"Well, here we are," she said awkwardly.

"Here we are," Joe agreed, slamming the truck door shut behind him. He sounded much more relaxed than Nancy felt. "What now?" he asked. "Do we climb in your bedroom window and change before anyone spots us out of dress code?"

"Can you really climb up there with a garment bag?"

Joe tilted his head, looking at the house and considering. "Maybe."

Nancy let out the breath she'd been holding in a sudden laugh. "Let's take the stairs, just to be safe."

"Since when do you go with the safe option?" Joe grumbled, bounding up the steps to get the door for her.

"Would you rather spend Thanksgiving hanging off the side of a house, or eating Hannah's turkey?" Nancy demanded.

"Fair enough," Joe conceded.

Once inside, Nancy peeked into the living room to wave a quick greeting. "Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!"

There was a general buzz of returned greetings, dominated by her aunt's delighted cry: "Nancy! It's so good to see you!"

"It's good to see you, too, Aunt Eloise."

"Get over here and tell me everything," Eloise demanded.

Nancy gestured to her outfit and Joe's jeans. "Absolutely. Just give us a minute to get changed."

"Oh, naturally. Take all the time you need," Eloise said, her raised eyebrows belying her casual tone. Ignoring this, Nancy grabbed Joe's hand and withdrew, pulling him up the stairs.

"Hey, Nan. We can take turns," Joe offered, his voice low. Nancy paused on the landing and looked back at him, confused.

"Why the sudden delicacy?"

"Your aunt looked at me funny," Joe muttered.

"Oh, is that all?" Nancy resumed her course toward her bedroom. "I promise we're not scandalizing Aunt Eloise. And you have nothing to worry about, anyway. She's too well-bred to say anything to you."

"Yeah, but what will she say to you?" Joe demanded. He closed her bedroom door anyway and slung his garment bag down on the bed.

Nancy grinned at him. "Knowing Aunt Eloise, she'll hound me for all the details of our relationship and tell me all about her latest conquests. And she may attempt to have 'the talk' with me, despite the fact that she's had 'the talk' with me at least once a year since I was twelve." She was shimmying efficiently out of her clothes as she spoke. She dropped her shirt on the bed and made a hurry-up sort of gesture at Joe.

"Multi-task, Hardy."

"Yes, ma'am," he said automatically, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt. Once prodded into action, he worked quickly.

"I feel like a stage actor between scenes," he quipped, kicking off his jeans.

"You better hurry, then, or you'll miss your cue," Nancy teased.

"Will you zip me?" she added, turning her back to him and gathering her hair over one shoulder to get it out of the way. She had slipped into a cocktail dress which was much more modern than the dress she had selected for Frank and Callie's wedding: sapphire blue and form-fitting, with a low sweetheart neckline.

"Sure, if you'll tie my tie," Joe said amiably.

"What tie? You're not even wearing pants yet."

Joe gently eased her zipper up the back of the dress, finishing up by planting a kiss at the nape of her neck. "Breathe, beautiful."

Nancy sighed at him. "Where's your tie? I'll pre-tie it while you put some clothes on."

"Nan, seriously. Relax. I'll be dressed in two more seconds. What's the rush?"

"Who's rushing?" Nancy stepped forward, looping the tie around his collar as he finished buttoning his shirt. She concentrated on tying the knot, keeping her eyes lowered so he could not read her face.

"This is going to be a little dull compared to your house," she said tentatively. "Dad's going to go on and on about the wine, and Camille will want to talk about the stock market, and- "

"Is that what this is about?" Joe interrupted, pocketing the cuff link he had been fastening in order to rest both hands on her shoulders. "You think I won't fit in? I can talk about the stock market, Nan. I even know some things about wine. I'm not a completely dumb jock."

Nancy looked up, horrified. "That is not what I meant! I just thought you might be bored, that's all."

"If I get too bored, I'll hoot like an owl three times. That'll be your signal to meet me in the basement, where we can tunnel our way to freedom," Joe said.

"You're crazy," Nancy told him, laughing despite herself.

"And so are you if you think I can't handle a nice evening with your family." Joe released her and fished his final cuff link out of his pocket. "All right, Drew. It's no tuxedo, but I feel pretty damn dashing. I'm ready to go act civilized for a few hours. You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Then let's do this."

Aunt Eloise, who was accepting a drink from a young man Nancy vaguely recognized, lit up with pure delight when she saw Nancy and Joe re-enter the room.

"There you are," she called, hurrying toward them with her distinctive gliding movements. Eloise Drew moved like the world was a stage and she was the principal dancer. She had been a dancer at one time, in fact, and Nancy's early ballet training had all been due to Eloise.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Aunt Eloise," Nancy said, kissing her aunt's cheek. While it was true that Nancy did not have many relatives, she was certain that Eloise would have been a favorite even if the family had been larger. Her father's sister was intelligent, cultured, and personable.

"Nancy, we are going to have a nice long chat, but I must say hello to this handsome fellow first," Eloise said now, taking Joe by the arm. "Get yourself a drink in the meantime, darling. Dalton is an absolute magician with a cocktail shaker."

"Dalton?" Nancy echoed, slightly puzzled.

The young man she had spotted earlier came forward. "At your service, Miss Drew."

"Please, call me Nancy," she said, shaking his hand. The young man was about her age. She catalogued the details of his appearance in her mind, the habit deeply ingrained whether she was working a case or not: hazel eyes, dark hair, broad shoulders, expensive suit. His handshake was a lawyer's handshake- the grip firm, the palm soft.

"Dalton Brandt," he said. "I'm interning with your father's firm."

"It's nice to meet you, Dalton."

"The pleasure is all mine," he said, and the look in his eyes added a depth of meaning to the polite words. Nancy was surprised. Interns rarely flirted with her. She was the boss's daughter and therefore out of bounds. But Dalton was dancing very close to the line.

"I hear you're the guy to see for a good drink around here," she said lightly, before he could attempt to take things further.

Dalton moved back toward the bar area, an arrangement of bottles and glasses on a side table. "My reputation precedes me. Let me guess...a Manhattan?" He was already reaching for the bourbon.

"You're awfully confident," Nancy said. "What if I said I wanted the peach vodka?"

"Then I'd call you a liar." Dalton poured as he spoke. "I put myself through college tending bar. You get pretty good at reading people. You're not the type to go right for the vodka at a family gathering. You're a classic."

Nancy stepped closer, intrigued. "So you can guess anyone's drink after just a brief introduction?"

"Pretty close to it, at least."

"Okay...tell me what Camille would get."

"Camille's the vodka type. She wants a drink with an impact. She's a little nervous about being here, and she has a stressful job," Dalton said without hesitation.

"Okay, what about Joe?"

"Your boyfriend? He's a beer guy, but he'll drink anything available at a party."

"And I thought I was the detective," Nancy said, accepting the glass he held out to her. "Thanks, Dalton." Out of the corner of her eye she had seen Carson and Camille converging on her position. She set her glass down now and stepped into her father's embrace.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Dad!" she said.

"Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart. Thank you for coming."

Nancy, who had been returning Camille's polite hug and air kiss, raised an eyebrow at the lawyer. "Why wouldn't I come?" she asked.

"Oh, well, you know. You had multiple obligations today," Carson said vaguely.

"Dad, I've never missed a holiday with you," Nancy said, feeling slightly unsettled. Things really were changing. She had not even moved out yet and already she felt like a guest in this home.

Carson seemed to feel the awkwardness of the moment, too. He stood silent for a moment before spotting Eloise beckoning to Nancy.

"Your aunt wants to see you," he said, relief evident in his voice. "I'll let you two have your tête-à-tête."

Eloise, looking elegant in an opalescent silvery dress, had settled herself on the sofa. She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her skirt and looked at Nancy over the top of her glasses.

"You looked all at sea, darling."

Nancy nodded. She took a sip of her drink. Eloise waited, looking expectant.

"It's good, isn't it."

Nancy nodded again. "Very good."

"What did I tell you? That boy has a divine touch with the booze," Eloise said, reaching for her own glass and taking a generous swallow. "All right. I want to hear everything, Nance. What is going on in your life?"

"If you would text me back more often we wouldn't have so much catching up to do," Nancy teased.

"Oh, honestly, darling. I refuse to spend all day typing out small talk one letter at a time. Here's a thought: you could call, now and then, instead of texting."

"Mea culpa," Nancy pled. "I'll call more, I promise."

"Good." Eloise settled back against the cushions. "Now, tell me how you and Joe ended up looking like a pair of roller derby girls after a rough bout. Is that courtesy of the murderer you rounded up the other day?"

Nancy touched the faded bruise on her cheek ruefully. "I knew I should have worn more makeup."

"I once cut my head like that when a bed frame broke." Eloise leaned in, lowering her voice. "I was dating a chef who loved to be tied up, and things got a bit out of hand. I probably should not be telling you that!"

Nancy tried not to laugh. Eloise had been giving herself conversational whiplash for years. Her forthright, free-spirited personality had always been at war with the part of her conscience which believed she ought to be a wholesome maternal figure and a mentor to her motherless niece. Nancy knew from experience that Eloise's conscience would subside quickly.

"On that note," Eloise continued, "your Joe certainly grew up handsome. He always was a charmer. I hope you're being careful."

"I have an IUD," Nancy assured her.

Eloise shook her head. "I meant emotionally careful, darling. You've never been one for casual relationships."

"This isn't a casual relationship," Nancy said softly, tracing a finger around the rim of her glass. As she had told Joe, she had been expecting Eloise to probe into their relationship. But she had not expected this sudden caution; and she felt that Eloise, of all people, should understand not wanting to take the safe path in life.

"Are you sure he understands that?" Eloise asked. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Nance. Joe isn't Ned. There's something wild in that boy."

Nancy was saved from further discussion by the arrival of her father, who seated himself beside her and stretched an arm out along the back of the couch.

"I'm sorry, girls. I couldn't pass up the chance to spend a little time with both of you at once. I never seem to see either of you anymore," the lawyer said.

"Why waste your time on us when you could be canoodling with the new fiancee?" Eloise asked, her eyes twinkling.

"We don't canoodle," Carson said, pronouncing the word with dignified distaste.

"Then what's the point of marrying her?" Eloise demanded.

Carson half-rose, feigning irritation. "I just remembered why I don't see much of you," he said.

"Grab his sleeve, Nancy," Eloise said, laughing. "Sit, Car. I'll behave."

"What were you talking about, before I interrupted?" Carson asked, returning to his seat.

Nancy and Eloise exchanged glances.

"Work," Nancy said.

"Pomeranians," Eloise said simultaneously.

Nancy arched an eyebrow. "Pomeranians?" she echoed incredulously. Eloise just laughed.

"I'm sorry. I'm lousy at improvising."

"You were telling Nancy inappropriate stories about your social life again," Carson guessed.

"I'd hardly call it inappropriate. She's a grown woman," Eloise rebutted.

"Why don't you tell us about work, Dad," Nancy suggested quickly. "Didn't you have an interesting case going on?"

Her re-direction worked. Before long the three of them were deeply immersed in conversation, catching each other up on recent career developments and comparing notes. Though on the surface the lawyer, the detective, and the teacher occupied very different spheres, they had long since discovered that they brought many of the same skills to bear: persistence, good acting, psychological insight, and attention to detail, among others.

Throughout all of this, Nancy had been surreptitiously checking on Joe every few minutes. He had mingled and talked and poured himself a drink, and now he was chatting animatedly with Dalton and Camille. If he were finding this party pretentious or dull, he gave no sign of it.

 _But then_ , Nancy reflected, _Joe's an expert at staying cool under pressure. He had no problem goofing around while we were being held at gunpoint; he could easily hide it if he were bored with us._ She still could not rid herself of the niggling worry that she was ruining his holiday.

"Dad, Aunt Eloise, will you excuse me?" she said finally, getting to her feet. "I haven't said hello to Hannah yet."

The box of Cherry Bakewells from Kate's package was sitting on the table in the hall. Nancy retrieved it and slipped eagerly into the kitchen.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Hannah!" she cried.

"There's my girl!" Hannah dropped her spoon and hurried over to wrap Nancy in a hug. "I was beginning to think you'd decided to stay at the Hardys'."

"Would I miss the last Thanksgiving before you leave?" Nancy couldn't stop her voice from wavering. She buried her face against Hannah's shoulder, ignoring the hard edges of Hannah's bird-shaped brooch pressing into her cheek. "Aunt Eloise caught me before I could get back here," she added, pleased to hear her voice come out more even this time.

"I'm not leaving you," Hannah said. It was meant as a rebuke, but Hannah's voice wobbled, too. "You're my little girl. Don't you think for a second that I could walk away from this family. I'll be right here, in this kitchen, cooking the turkey, for as many Thanksgivings as the good Lord sees fit to give me."

"I know, Hannah," Nancy whispered. For a moment, she felt overwhelmed. For all its trappings of timeless tradition, this was a very transitional holiday. Carson was getting married, Hannah was moving out, Nancy herself was moving out. She stood in the middle of the familiar kitchen, surrounded by familiar sights and smells, and somehow she felt as though she had lost her way home.

The feeling did not last long. Hannah broke the spell by releasing her and laughing softly. "My bird pin left an imprint on your poor face," she said, touching Nancy's cheek. "That takes me back. You used to get up from your naps all rosy-cheeked, with marks from where you'd been sleeping with your mother's locket."

"Speaking of Mom," Nancy said, and held her box of cookies out to the housekeeper. "I know you already found some of these, but here."

"What's this?" Hannah took a closer look, and her eyes lit up. "How wonderful! Nancy, you always come through."

"I have to confess, I didn't actually find them. George's friend Kate sent them to me and Joe to thank us for solving her case," Nancy said.

"It's a sign," Hannah said solemnly. "It's a sign, that's what it is. That dear mother of yours is smiling down at us extra hard this year."

"Hannah, no. I'd just convinced myself that I wasn't going to cry," Nancy protested, half-laughing and blinking back tears.

"No need for that," Hannah said kindly. She pulled open a drawer and extracted an apron, which she tossed to Nancy. "Here. A little work will set you to rights."

"A little work is your answer for everything," Nancy teased, but she pulled the voluminous old-fashioned apron over her dress anyway.

"That's a pretty bold dress," Hannah commented. "Did Bess help you pick it out? It has her name written all over it."

"Actually, I picked it out all by myself. Her taste must be rubbing off on me."

Hannah had returned to the stove. She lifted a few lids, checking on the pots' contents. "Did she and Tom get home safely?" she asked, peering through a cloud of steam. "I still can't believe you dragged them into your case, with poor Bess in her condition."

"Her condition?" Nancy echoed, momentarily distracted from the main point. "You're awfully Victorian today, Hannah."

"I blame the apron. It was my gran's, and she was very proper," Hannah said.

"That explains it. Where do you want me to start?"

"You can chop onion and celery for the stuffing." Hannah returned to her primary grievance. "But really, Nan. Expecting a pregnant woman to risk life and limb on one of your cases? That's going too far."

"She was perfectly safe!" Nancy protested. "And for the record, they volunteered. All they had to do was pose as buyers for the stolen paintings and record Allie's sales pitch as proof of her possessing and selling stolen property. You know how good Bess and Tom are at playing dumb. The odds were higher they'd get hurt crossing the street than talking to Allie."

Hannah sighed. "I suppose you're right. I just don't like the idea of any of my girls in trouble. Speaking of which, I had an interesting conversation with Laura Hardy yesterday."

"Did she tell you about the Shaws?" Nancy asked.

Hannah's frown was answer enough. "Outrageous," she said vehemently. "What a pair of bullies. I regret ever making a cake for people like that to enjoy."

"Why should the rest of us have suffered? We all thought it was delicious," Nancy said. "And Callie even ate an entire slice."

Hannah was somewhat placated by this news. "As long as that sweet girl liked it, I suppose I can't begrudge those ogres she calls parents," she said, opening the oven to baste the turkey.

"Strong words, Hannah! So much for your gran's apron's influence," Nancy said, laughing.

"Don't you get sassy with me, missy."

"Or what? You've already given me the worst job available." Nancy blinked her watering eyes and reached for another onion.

"You're not too old to be paddled," Hannah said, waving a wooden spoon at the younger woman.

"You wouldn't. Not on a holiday." Nancy slid her onion pieces to the end of the cutting board and moved the celery into position.

"Tell me more about your new house," she said suddenly.

"All right. Let's see. It has the prettiest little kitchen, just renovated," Hannah said, piling fresh-baked rolls into a basket. "A yard big enough to do some gardening but not so big it'll be a hassle to keep up with. Oh, there's a fireplace, and a breakfast nook with a window seat, and a garage for my car. And here's the most important part: there's a very nice little spare bedroom. I don't mean to pry, Nan, but if you were thinking of moving on now that your dad is getting married, you're welcome to stay with me for as long as you need."

"I really appreciate that," Nancy said simply. This was not the time to bring up her arrangement with Joe.

The two women worked quietly for a few minutes. With fewer people to feed and Hannah's knack for efficiency, the kitchen here was much less chaotic than the Hardys' kitchen had been.

"It's so nice to catch you between cases," Hannah remarked, finally. "It makes today feel even more special."

"How could today be special when you haven't even seen me yet?" Joe said mischievously, appearing in the kitchen doorway.

"You're so full of yourself you won't have any room for my good dinner," Hannah said. She crossed over to hug him anyway, the tenderness of her face contradicting her mocking words. "I was expecting you to show up sooner or later."

Joe nodded. "This is the best room in the house. It has all the food and the two prettiest girls in River Heights. And," he added, looking sheepish, "I heard rumors that you were watching the game in here."

Hannah pointed toward the counter. "It's streaming on my iPad. Be warned, though, it's been a disappointing game so far."

"Your team is losing?" Joe asked. He headed over to take a look at the screen, tugging Nancy's apron string as he passed to make her yelp.

"No, we're winning, but I'm not sure we should be. There were some bad calls early on in the game."

"That sucks. I had a few games like that in high school."

"And high school is definitely the same as pro football," Nancy grumbled, re-tying her apron.

"A game's a game," Joe said. His eyes were still glued to the screen. "Hannah, did you see this play the announcers keep talking about?"

"Give it a minute. They've been showing the slow-motion replay constantly," Hannah advised.

Nancy let the football talk fade to the background. Her attention had been captured by a more interesting development: Aunt Eloise, sneaking toward the back door.

"Where are you going with those cigarettes, young lady?" Nancy called.

"What cigarettes?" Eloise returned, trying her best to look innocent.

"Aunt Eloise, I'm a detective. You can't hide anything from me." Nancy reached into the hall and pulled Eloise into the kitchen, shaking her head sternly. "You told me you were quitting."

"Yes, and I regret ever mentioning it to you," Eloise said hollowly. "I've cut it down to one cigarette a day, you young tyrant."

"Just one? That shouldn't be hard to forego," Nancy said.

"It's only a small indulgence, Nancy. Every afternoon I step outside and I enjoy my one cigarette deeply and richly, and I return to work feeling civilized again. Preach at me all you want, darling, but I intend to cling to my little ritual." Chin high, Eloise sailed toward the exit. She paused gracefully in the doorway. "Forgive me. I never can remember who my fellow sinners are. Hannah, Joe, would either of you care to join me?"

Hannah shook her head briskly. "I never picked up the habit."

"It's been awhile for me. Thanks, though," Joe added. He had turned away from the football game. Neither Nancy nor Hannah missed the longing look he gave the food waiting on the counter nearby.

"You can't be that hungry already," Nancy said, remembering the generous amount she had seen him eat at his parents' house earlier.

"I skipped breakfast and worked out, remember? It takes a lot of fuel to keep this machine going."

"Didn't Frank order you not to refer to yourself as 'The Machine?' " Nancy demanded.

"Yeah, but he's just jealous that he didn't think of it first."

Hannah intervened. "Here, hon, this should hold you over," she said, handing him a pecan tartlet.

"He gets dessert before dinner?" Nancy protested.

"That's because I'm the favorite," Joe told her, popping the treat into his mouth.

"Children," Hannah said, with a warning lilt in her voice. "Behave yourselves."

The back door slammed, suddenly, and Eloise hurried back into the kitchen to stand near the hot stove and rub warmth back into her cold arms. "Who's misbehaving?" she asked, interested.

"Nobody!" Nancy said quickly. "I'm surprised to see you back so soon. Didn't you mention something about savoring the ritual?"

"That was before I realized how cold it is out there," Eloise said ruefully. "It's difficult to enjoy anything to the fullest while shivering hard enough to make your bones rattle."

"Eloise, here. This will warm you up," Hannah said, pressing a cup of coffee into Eloise's cold fingers.

" _Merci_ ," Eloise said. "Hannah, you are the soul of kindness."

"The sugar bowl is on the island," Nancy told her. "Pull up a stool. I'll get you a spoon."

"Thanks, Nance. You know me so well."

Eloise made even perching on a stool look graceful. She patted the seat beside hers before reaching for the sugar bowl.

"Come here and tell me your secret, Joe."

"I'm not one for divulging secrets," Joe said lightly, swinging himself onto the seat. "What's in it for me?"

"Judging by Nancy's expression, a nice, warm, earnest sense of moral superiority," Eloise said, softening the words with a wink in Nancy's direction.

"You want to know how I quit smoking," Joe realized.

"Bingo. Make it good, though. If one more person lectures me about willpower or the nicotine patch I'm going to go postal. And I think we'll have more than enough 'cold turkey' for the rest of the week."

Joe laughed. "All right, but you won't like this either. Do you remember my brother?"

"Frank," Eloise said, nodding.

"We're pretty competitive, and on top of that he has the white knight complex to beat all others. He wore me down with a mixture of athletic pressure and just plain nagging."

Eloise looked skeptical. "I don't buy it," she said frankly. "I know your type. I've taught a dozen of you over the years. The best way to make you dig in your heels is to apply direct pressure."

"Aunt Eloise!" Nancy said sharply.

"It's okay, Nan," Joe said. He shrugged. "Okay. Yeah, I'm stubborn. Frank did nag me, and I refused to listen. It took breaking up with the girl I was seeing at the time, and realizing I needed to get my life back on track, to make me quit. You have to really want it." He studied Eloise for a moment. "I'm not sure you really want it."

"Very insightful," Eloise said, with a nod of satisfaction. "It's rare to find someone as honest as he is pretty. I appreciate that."

Behind them, Hannah muffled a laugh. "Pretty?" she echoed.

"You don't think I'm pretty?" Joe asked, pretending to be hurt.

"I think you're a little too masculine for that word, that's all. The tattoos and the scars don't make me think 'pretty,' " Hannah explained.

"Tattoos?" Eloise's eyebrows headed north again. "Fascinating. Are they in delicate locations?"

"No, they're mostly on my arms," Joe said.

Nancy did not like the direction the conversation had taken. Her aunt was taking an interest in Joe, but it seemed like an intellectual interest rather than a personal one- as though he were a new species of insect, and she were a scientist.

"Aunt Eloise," she said again; but her aunt waved her warning away.

"I'd love to see them," she told Joe. And because Joe was a good-natured young man, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt to show her the engine schematic and the compass rose and the _Beowulf_ quotation. The latter actually disrupted Eloise's impassive examination.

"Muscles like that and a working knowledge of literature? Nancy, darling, did you have him made to order?"

Nancy blushed.

"As gratifying as all of this is, I guess I'd better get back to socializing," Joe said, buttoning his shirt. "Unless you need a hand with anything, Hannah?"

"No, but thanks for offering," Hannah said kindly. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. You can tell Carson that we're running according to schedule."

"According to schedule," he echoed. "Got it."

Nancy's cheeks were still burning as she followed him out into the hallway. She touched his shoulder to stop him and he turned, the inquisitive expression on his face melting into pleasure when he saw that it was her. Without a word he pulled her close, his hands tracing down from her shoulders to her hips and pulling her body snug against his as they kissed.

"What's up?" he murmured when they finally broke apart.

Nancy stared blankly at him for a moment. "I have no idea."

Joe kissed her again, lightly. "How about now?"

"If I say no, will you keep kissing me?"

"If that's what it takes, I'm willing to do my part," Joe said, straight-faced.

Aunt Eloise's laugh trickled out from the kitchen, and Nancy's brain clicked back into gear. "I wanted to apologize for Eloise," she said softly.

"Apologize?"

"She went too far," Nancy said. "She gets wrapped up in her own thoughts, sometimes, and forgets that other people are, in fact, people."

"Nan, it's all right. I understand. And I've always liked your aunt. She's unapologetically unique." He looked her in the eyes, and she remembered what he had said a few days ago: _I don't lie to Frank, and I don't lie to you._ "Believe me?"

"I do." Nancy sighed. "How were things going in the living room?"

"If this were my first time meeting everyone, I might be a little put off," he admitted. "But this is fine. It's no snowball fight, but I'm having a good time."

She must have looked skeptical, because he shook his head. "I mean it. Dalton's a cool guy, and Camille is funny once she gets loosened up." He reached for her again, settling his hands lightly at her waist, and looked into her eyes. "Nan, I want to be here. I like your family, and I love you. So relax."

Back in the kitchen, Eloise was chatting away to Hannah and stirring a pot unmindfully.

"Don't move," Nancy said. "I need to get a picture of this."

"Fiddlesticks, darling. You've seen me cook before."

Nancy merely arched an eyebrow at her.

"All right, I don't cook!" Eloise admitted. "At my age I've learned that you've got to play to your strengths. My strength happens to be keeping other people entertained while they do the cooking."

"That's what the football game is for," Hannah said, but she was smiling. Eloise's charm was hard to resist.

"So, Nancy," Eloise went on. "Refresh my memory. The Hardys are a Bayport family, aren't they? The father was on the police force, and the mother is a...a nurse, isn't she?"

"A teacher," Nancy corrected. "Upper elementary."

"I knew it was something like that," Eloise said vaguely. Nancy refrained from pointing out that Eloise herself was a teacher. She knew that Eloise considered her prestigious private school to be worlds removed from any public school system, even one as well-run as the Bayport district.

"What does his brother do now?" Eloise continued, surrendering her pot and spoon to Hannah without a backward glance.

"Frank is a police officer."

"So neither of them went to college?"

 _She might as well come right out and ask how much they earn in a year,_ Nancy thought, her irritation re-surfacing. She was familiar with the slight tendency toward snobbishness which both Eloise and Carson retained, but she had never liked to see it surface.

"I think it would be more appropriate for you to ask Joe these questions directly," she said.

Eloise blinked. "I'm sorry, Nancy. Is something bothering you?"

"I'm not comfortable with the way you're analyzing him," Nancy said, after a moment's hesitation. "He's a person, Aunt Eloise, a really smart and kind and good person, not a- a microscope slide, or a pretty toy. He's my friend and my partner, and I wish you'd see all of that instead of looking down at him."

Eloise was silent for a few minutes, absorbing her niece's words. One of her best qualities was her willingness to evaluate her own behavior and to adjust her way of thinking if necessary; and that, to Nancy's relief, was exactly what she did now.

"I know I've spent too much time around my students' parents when I start seeing the world in terms of white collar and blue collar," she said slowly. "You're right. I got caught up in studying him instead of getting to know him. I'm sorry, darling. I'll do better."

"Thank you," Nancy murmured.

"I hope I haven't ruined your evening," Eloise said.

"What's a family gathering without a few ruffled feathers?" Nancy replied, feeling her anger drain away.

"There's going to be a few more sets of ruffled feathers if we sit around clucking all day instead of getting the food on the table," Hannah said brusquely. "Nan, if you'll start carrying in the side dishes, I'll bring in the turkey. Eloise, will herd everyone else into the dining room?"

"With pleasure," Eloise said, "provided I can nip at their heels if they dawdle."

"Just don't frighten them into stampeding!" Nancy called after her.

Hannah had set a beautiful table in the formal dining room. Nancy set her dishes reverently on the spotless white tablecloth and turned to the housekeeper, who had just entered the room with the turkey on its platter.

"Hannah, this is lovely. Will you teach me how you do it?" she said, lightly touching the arrangement of gold- and rust-colored chrysanthemums which crowned the table.

"I'll give you a hint," Hannah said, smiling with some private amusement. "It involved more dialing the phone than trimming stems."

"You cheated!" Nancy was grinning now, too.

"And I'm not the least bit ashamed of myself, either."

"But you usually put the arrangements together yourself, don't you? Or have I spent my life believing a lie?"

"So dramatic!" Hannah exclaimed. They had returned the kitchen, now, and Hannah began loading a tray with more side dishes to take in. "Yes, I usually make them myself, and yes, I would love to teach you. Hand me your apron, sweetie, and go on out so Joe can bring you in to dinner. I can finish up in here."

"I always help," Nancy objected.

Hannah's eyes were serious. "Humor me, Nan. It's our last Thanksgiving before the world turns topsy-turvy. I'd like to do it right."

Slowly, Nancy tugged the apron over her head and folded it. Her eyes were suspiciously bright, but so were Hannah's. Nancy blinked hard, pressed an impulsive kiss to Hannah's cheek, and darted from the room.

Though the group which sat down to dinner a few minutes later was smaller and more intimate than that which had gathered at the Hardys' home earlier- though candlelight replaced daylight, and the conversation was pitched lower and ranged over more intellectual topics- still the conviviality was the same, and the joy was no less real. Carson was a gracious host, Camille's usually abrupt manner was softened by wine and the tranquillity of the holiday, and Hannah's kind and sensible manner made everyone feel at ease. Eloise, eager to make up for her earlier misstep, was at her most engaging and amusing. Nancy looked around the room, taking in the grace and elegance of the scene with fresh eyes; and for the first time she was able to see both the stiffness of the occasion and the genuine good-hearted enjoyment of life behind the formality. When she met Joe's eyes across the table, he winked, she smiled back, and the last vestiges of her worry fell away.

Thanksgiving at the Drews' house had ended the same way as long as Nancy could remember: with hot cider and soft blankets and pajamas, her whole family settling in together to watch her favorite holiday movie. And this year was no exception.

"We've never had this many people!" Nancy commented, searching for a place to sit. Dalton had thanked them and taken his leave, but there still remained enough people to fill up the available seats. Carson was in the middle of the sofa, his arms around Camille on one side and Eloise on the other. Hannah reclined in her usual chair, her feet up, nursing a glass of cider and a second slice of pie.

"Over here, Nan," Joe called, patting the floor next to him. Nancy made her way across the room and handed him her cider before sinking down, spreading her blanket over their legs. The action reminded her of the previous evening; and it must have evoked memories for him, too, because when she looked over she found an answering twinkle in his eyes.

"I'm sorry I forgot to tell you to bring pajamas," she said.

"Joe, are you sure I can't loan you a t-shirt and sweatpants?" Carson asked, leaning over Nancy's shoulder.

"Thank you, but I'm fine," Joe said. He had shed his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt while Nancy was getting changed. "Why are we watching _Rudolph_?" he asked, changing the subject.

"What's wrong with the movie?" Nancy asked, snuggling up close so she could rest her head on his shoulder. She had tried leaning back against the couch, but had only managed to catch Eloise's bony knees in her back.

"It's a Christmas movie," Joe pointed out.

"Tread lightly, young man. Tradition is sacred," Carson said benevolently. "We've watched this movie on Thanksgiving evening for- how many years, now, Hannah?"

"At least twenty," Hannah said, after a moment's consideration.

"I loved this movie when I was very little," Nancy explained to Joe as her father selected "play" on the DVD. "I watched it all the time until Dad and Hannah got fed up and negotiated terms. They said I could only watch it during the holiday season."

"So naturally, little Miss Too-Clever-For-Her-Own-Good decided that since Thanksgiving is the start of the holiday season, she could start watching it then. And it's been a tradition ever since," Hannah concluded.

"She's always been stubborn," Eloise told Joe.

"I wouldn't have her any other way," Joe said affectionately, kissing the top of her head.

Behind her, Nancy felt Eloise stroke her hair. The older woman leaned over to speak quietly to the couple on the floor. "She's always been a good judge of character, too," Eloise murmured. Nancy felt a surge of gratitude. She knew what Eloise was doing: making amends for her earlier snap judgment.

Eloise continued. "I'm glad you could be hear with us tonight, Joe. I look forward to getting to know you better."

"Likewise," Joe said, craning his neck to look back at her.

Eloise patted his shoulder. "I'll let you two enjoy the movie."

As the familiar strains of the opening credits filled the room, Nancy cuddled closer to Joe, sipped her cider, and lost herself in the happy glow of nostalgia, family, and contentment.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty: The Answer

 _Author's Note: This is it...the final chapter! I'd like to pause here and send out heartfelt thanks to my readers, but especially to Cherylann Rivers, Jilsen, and max2013, my three faithful reviewers. I appreciate your feedback more than I know how to say. Max, I love how emotionally involved you always seem to be with the characters and the plot. Jilsen, you're always so kind and perceptive. And Cheryl, you're the cheerleader I never knew I needed! Your insight and support mean so much to me._

Joe was eating pie in bed.

Unsurprised but curious, Nancy turned her head on the pillow for a better view. Her second look confirmed it: that was indeed Laura Hardy's best pie plate balanced on her youngest son's sheet-covered knees. He had a fork in one hand and a paperback copy of _Catch-22_ in the other.

After a moment, he seemed to feel her gaze on him. He looked over, courteously tugging one earbud out of his ear before he spoke. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Nancy mumbled back, struggling to keep her heavy eyelids open. "I don't know how you can read with music playing right into your ears."

Joe shrugged. "It helps me focus. Too much quiet makes me edgy," he said. "Want some pie?"

"No, thanks." Nancy let her eyes close. Though her mind wanted to be alert, her traitorous body was already nestling back down into the wonderful, beguiling warmth of the cocooning blankets.

"Go back to sleep, babe," Joe said gently, reaching over to smooth her hair back from her face. "It's Saturday. We have absolutely nothing planned."

Nancy was asleep before she could reply.

Sunlight slanted into the room the next time she re-surfaced, its angle indicating that the morning was half over. Nancy stretched and, to her surprise, bumped into another recumbent body.

"You're still here!" she exclaimed, turning over to see for herself. Joe was awake, propped on one elbow and still reading his book.

"Yeah, I'm still here," he said over his shoulder. When he tugged out an earbud again, Nancy could hear, very faintly, the Rolling Stones. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Nancy had been privately assessing that very question, and not liking the answer. She sat up before giving an answer, rubbing her throbbing head. "Like one of Aunt Eloise's houseplants," she said dourly.

"I've never seen a houseplant with a hangover before," Joe said with amusement. "What does she water them with? Neat Scotch?"

"No, I mean parched," Nancy told him. This couldn't be a hangover. She never drank that much.

"Do you remember anything from last night?"

Nancy thought for a moment. Her usually agile brain seemed caught in slow motion today; it felt like the mental equivalent of trying to run in waist-deep water.

"Bess and Tom's post-Thanksgiving party!" she said finally. "I remember."

"That's a start. I'll go get you an aspirin," Joe said compassionately.

"No, it's okay. I'm getting up anyway." Nancy swung her legs over the side of the bed. The cold bite of the floor against her bare feet very nearly made her retreat back under the covers. But nature called, and so did the medicine cabinet.

In the bathroom Nancy washed down her aspirin with water from the faucet, catching handful after handful to drink from her cupped palms until her terrible thirst had subsided. Then she brushed her teeth. She was already beginning to feel better when she slipped back into bed and curled up against Joe's warm back.

"Let me know when you're up to it, and I'll make breakfast," he offered, without turning around.

"You already ate. Or did I dream that?"

In answer, Joe reached over the side of the bed and picked up the now-empty pie plate.

"Not a dream, then," Nancy said.

Joe turned a page. "Is it coming back to you yet?"

Nancy considered this. Though thinking came easier, this time, her memories of Friday night remained as bright and gauzy and diaphanous as a watercolor painting.

"Bit and pieces," she told Joe, who was still waiting for her answer.

"Good. It was a fun party." He returned his attention to his book.

Nancy did not feel so casual about it. She lay back, staring unseeingly at the ceiling, and tried to stitch the fragments of her memory together into a cohesive narrative.

She remembered going to the party early to help Bess set up, though Bess had hardly needed assistance. Bess was always in her element when entertaining. Myra was at her grandparents', the house was spotless, and Bess had spent the whole day producing an impressive array of drinks and finger foods, as well as virgin cocktails for those who were pregnant or abstaining. Nancy had chatted and helped her friend decide which dress to wear while Joe and Tom drove down to the store for more ice and some beer.

She remembered the atmosphere as guests began to arrive: a laid-back, long-weekend, ready-to-party feeling which exploded into outright revelry as soon as Frank and Callie stood up and announced their marriage to the whole group. Nancy had raised her glass in round after round of toasts to the newlyweds before drinking to the happy couple had turned into just plain drinking. Bess had made sangria and something else which Nancy could not identify but happily downed anyway, because it was sweet and fruity and made her feel like a soap bubble rising on a warm breeze.

She remembered dancing. That was a good memory. She had always loved to dance, and she rarely got the opportunity to do it these days. As far as she could remember, Tony had started it; but before long before other people had joined in. Nancy had pushed her glass into Chet's hands and moved eagerly into the dance, syncing up with Bess on one side and George on the other, the three of them falling naturally into the easy, playful rhythm of all the Friday nights they had gone out together during college. Chet and his date, Delilah, had joined in, displaying more enthusiasm than grace. Callie had let Joe lead her out onto the improved dance floor and had surprised everyone, Joe included, by immediately challenging him to a dance-off. They were both excellent dancers. Nancy had cheered for them both, indiscriminately, until suddenly Bess and Tom had decided to show them up. Even seven months pregnant, Bess had an innate sensuality and impeccable timing. Callie and Joe had conceded defeat, bowing to the reigning champions and crowning them with tiaras made from paper plates. Frank had re-claimed Callie for a dance after that, and Joe had joined Nancy.

She remembered talking. Lots of talking. Gossiping with Bess, making slightly awkward small talk with Delilah, cracking jokes with Tony and Joe, bantering with an ever-changing sea of faces. And there had been a strange card game some of Bess's work friends tried to teach her to play. That had probably not gone well, considering the amount of sangria she had put away by then.

And that was all she could really pin down. Most of the evening was a kaleidoscope blur of faces, colors, sensations. She thought she could remember trying to build card houses with Tony, giggling harder at each catastrophic collapse. She definitely remembered dragging Joe into the back yard to look at the stars and making out on the porch until Chet and Delilah blundered out there and interrupted them. But those memories were like buoys in a swirling sea.

Nancy sat up abruptly, frowning. She liked staying in control. Her mind was her tool, her weapon, her first line of defense against a chaotic world. Having to sift through hazy memories, searching for a foothold of certainty, was unsettling on a fundamental level. On top of that, she was suddenly very aware of how Ned had reacted the few times she had been truly tipsy around him. Ned's entire demeanor had made it clear that he had been embarrassed both for her and by her. What if Joe felt the same way?

"I'm sorry," she said, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. "Please tell me I didn't do anything stupid."

Joe set his book face-down and turned over. "You didn't do anything stupid," he said. "And what are you sorry about?"

"Being out of control," Nancy said tentatively.

"You weren't- " Joe started, but broke off. He reached out and put a finger under her chin, tipping her face up until she had to look at him. To Nancy's relief, there was no embarrassment in his eyes- only affection mixed with amusement.

"Quit looking for a reason to feel guilty," he said. "You deserved to let your control slide a bit." He studied her face for a moment. "Do you want me to apologize? I was a long way from sober last night, myself."

"No!" Nancy said quickly. "You're always responsible about drinking and you had every right to have fun...okay, no fair using my own arguments against me. I see that smirk."

"Listen to yourself, Drew, and lighten up." He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. "Besides, you're the cutest damn drunk I've ever met. All you wanted to do was dance and hug people. And fool around," he added with a wink.

Nancy pulled back, alarmed. "With whom?" she asked, faintly.

"Just me. You got in the shower with me and told me you felt like a naughty mermaid."

That did sound familiar, now that he said it. Nancy blushed. "Not Bess's shower, right? That girl would never let me live it down."

"No, our shower," Joe told her.

"Okay."

"Feeling better?"

Nancy nodded. She was, in more ways than one.

"How did we get home?" she asked.

"We have built-in designated drivers, remember?" Joe gestured toward the rest of the apartment, indicating Frank and Callie. "At least until they move out. We should probably take full advantage of this. Party every night!"

Nancy winced. The aspirin might had taken the edge off her headache, but she still was not ready for that level of exuberance. "I dare you," she said. "Go for it. Let's see how long Frank's patience holds out. In fact, I think you should constantly maintain your blood alcohol at just over the limit so he has to drive you everywhere you need to go."

"You're diabolical," Joe said admiringly. "You were wasted as an only child."

"Please don't actually try it. I like your liver the way it is."

"It is one of my best features."

Nancy laughed and kissed him. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He leaned in for one more kiss, soft and brief, and then turned back over and picked up his book.

Nancy lay back against the pillow, lost in thought. She even dozed a little. But before long she found herself wide awake and restless. She knew that Joe was trying to concentrate; and she knew that if she were in his place, she would want to read in peace. Even so, she could not help pressing up behind him, brushing kisses against his shoulder and the strong line of his neck, running exploring fingertips along the skin of his arm and side and tracing every scar and freckle along the way. The time between page turns grew gradually longer and longer. Nancy took this as a challenge and responded accordingly, shifting against him in subtle ways, increasing the delicacy of her touch. When, finally, he tugged the earbuds from both ears and stuck his iPod into the book to mark his place, she knew she had won.

"Feeling better?" Joe asked.

"Much," Nancy told him, keeping all traces of triumph out of her voice. She went on casually caressing him, tracing her fingertips along his clavicle and down his shoulder.

"I remember when you got this," she remarked when her wandering fingers reached the compass rose on his bicep. She paused and circled it thoughtfully. Somehow, over the years, she had never asked him whether it held any particular meaning or had simply appealed to him at the time. "We were 18. You thought you were such a badass."

Joe snorted. "If you'll examine Exhibit B, you will find that I am, in fact, something of a badass," he said, pointing to the bullet scar on his opposite shoulder.

"Getting shot doesn't mean you're a badass. It means you're a bad ducker." Nancy grinned. "I certainly wouldn't pick you first for my dodgeball team."

"If you're throwing balls as fast as bullets, I don't want to play anyway!" Joe said, laughing.

Nancy's fingers had skimmed down to the engine schematic on his forearm. That one, she understood: it represented freedom, history, courage, and power. And she thought she understood his _Beowulf_ quotation, too. _Let Fate unwind as it must!_ It was a bold statement. Though she had not determined whether he meant it as a challenge or as a statement of acceptance, it meant a hell of a lot either way. The compass, though...she was unsure. It sat there, taunting her; and Nancy, who had never been able to withstand curiosity long, gave in.

"Why did you choose this design?" she asked, touching it again.

He turned his arm to get a better look at it, himself. "What makes you think it means anything?"

"I know you."

"Okay." He grew serious. "The compass rose, it means knowing where you are, or who you are, and where home is. Plus, Frank and I were always out on the bay in the _Sleuth_ back then, and it has strong nautical ties. So there you go." He winked at her. "Deep _and_ badass. I'm astonished you held out against my charms for so long."

"Astonished, huh?" Nancy kissed him, smiling against his lips and then squealing as he pulled her on top of him. _Catch-22_ thumped onto the floor, unheeded.

"It's my turn to read you," he said.

"I'm a blank book," Nancy told him.

"Not entirely." He grabbed her wrist and brought it to his mouth, kissing the scar there, the palm of her hand, her fingers. "I know how to read between the lines."

"Only because you've known me so long," Nancy said, teasing him.

"If I'd just met you today, I could read you your life off your body," Joe told her, releasing her hand. He was playing, still, but there was a note of gravity in his voice. "I could start from your hair and work my way down to your toes and tell you all about yourself. And even if I'd just met you today I think I'd be in love with you by the time I'd read half the story."

"That's called lust, not love," Nancy said gently.

Joe half-smiled. "I'm being serious, Nan. I'm not talking about your body. I'm talking about the information I could get from it. Your bravery, your perseverance, your compassion, your strength..."

Nancy touched his lips, interrupting him. "Joe?" She was serious, now, too, and he responded with his full attention right away.

"You asked me a question a few days ago," she said, feeling her heart trip suddenly into a wild syncopation of anxiety. Joe looked worried, too, and Nancy knew why. She had become an expert at guarding her heart, at evading real connections with anyone but her closest circle of family and friends. After Ned- whom she had loved, though never as much as he had loved her- she had begun to assume that this was simply the way she was made: an instrument in the hand of Justice, born for the hunt and not for love. Part of her had even felt glad about this. But then Joe had come along, stepping past her barriers as though they had never existed. He did not expect her to give up any part of herself. He accepted her, challenged her, and complemented her in ways she had never believed possible.

Nancy took a long breath, steadying herself. She had no doubts about what she was about to say, especially now, as she looked into Joe's face. She loved him so much her soul ached with it.

"My answer is yes. I want to move in with you."

Her words, so plain compared to the sonnet he had offered to her, nevertheless provoked a similar response- only this time it was Joe, not Nancy, whose eyes widened in surprise and pleasure, Joe who mutely gathered her into an impassioned embrace.

Nancy let herself get lost in his kiss. "If I'd known how good it would feel to say that, I would have said it the first time you asked," she murmured finally.

"That would've saved me some work," Joe said, kissing her again. "Maybe you should give your answer in sonnet form, too."

"Will you settle for a haiku?" Nancy asked.

"The committee will consider it." Joe smiled, his blue eyes shining with genuine happiness. "Welcome home, Nan."

Nancy had spent a great deal of time, recently, wondering if losing one's sense of home were simply part of adulthood. Now she saw the truth: that home was never truly lost, only transmuted through some alchemy of the soul into new places, new forms. She looked up at Joe with a smile to match his.

"Thank you," she said. "It's good to be home."


End file.
